Eram Quod Es, Eris Quod Sum
by Se acerca el invierno
Summary: It wasn't odd to catch glimpse of Emilee Porter frequenting Gotham Police Station or Arkham Asylum. It wasn't odd to notice one of her manicured hands grasping either a book or a hot tea. It wasn't odd to even catch her with a Glock 17 lodged in her purse. But developing a silent alliance with Gotham's newest underpayed vigilante? Now, that was something not even she saw coming.
1. The end of a beginning

**Title:**

Eram Quod Es, Eris Quod Sum

 **Author:**

Se acerca el invierno

 **Genre:**

Crime, Hurt / Comfort, Drama, bits of Humor, Family and Friendship. Later some Romance too.

 **Timeframe:**

Present time, Gotham Nolanverse. Follows most of the trilogy canon.

 **Summary:**

It wasn't odd to catch glimpse of Emilee Porter frequenting Gotham Police Station or Arkham Asylum. It wasn't odd to notice one of her manicured hands grasping either a book or a hot tea. It wasn't odd to spy her wandering the Narrows. It wasn't odd to even catch her with a Glock 17 lodged in her purse. But developing a silent alliance with Gotham's newest underpayed vigilante? Now, that was something not even she saw coming.

 **Rating:**

M — Just to be sure. Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 14-16

 **Warnings:**

This fanfiction's main characters are OC —original character—, so if you don't like romance between a canon character and an original one, then this is definitely not your story.

This fanfiction will practically have no censorship. You will find some bad language and swearing every now and again, as well as mentions and occasional descriptions of taboo subjects such as rape, sects, sex, murder and violence, among others. Not in every single paragraph, but a good amount of them in total.

 **Author's notes:**

Welcome everyone to my story! Before starting with the reading, I'd like to let you know a few things first.

Firstly, I apologize to the readers of my other stories for starting a new one before finishing the other two, but this idea has been keeping me awake for some nights now, literally. So, I just _needed_ to write it and finally get it out of my head!

English is not my first language, so consequently, I'm looking for a beta but still haven't found it. If anyone is interested, please, don't hesitate to send me a PM. So I apologize first hand for any grammar mistake, etc, you may find. Also, I'll try really hard to keep my main OC from being a Mary Sue; if you think something is wrong also don't doubt to tell me and I'll try to fix any mistake. If you want to say something about the story, or anything else, please, be respectful with everyone.

All opinions are very welcomed, especially constructive criticism so **please** , try to click the " _Review"_ button down there before leaving :) Without further delay, I'll leave you with the story. Here it goes!

* * *

 _ **ERAM QUOD ES, ERIS QUOD SUM**_

* * *

 _"I've been a good boy, I've never really been convicted of serious crime._ " - Tommy Chong

* * *

 _ **PROLOGUE. The end of a beginning  
**_

Gotham City was a crime-hole, and I loved it.

Honestly. There wasn't an existing place in the world which resembled career paradise so perfectly for me. Very few people —read: absolutely _no_ conventional citizen— would agree with me, though. I understand it. People prefer to live without hearing about robbery, rape or murder on a daily basis. I didn't. Please, don't get me wrong. I do not condone all crime Gotham is drowning into. But then again, is what I do for a living. I'm a researcher; I seek crime and analyze it. I go deep into the culprits' mind to try to see its inner work, see if they can be re-educated into what is considered a normal person. My mother warned me, I would end up being her death. Of course, she only said so half-heartedly, trying to crack a joke on one of her deepest worries. Her only daughter was —almost— obsessed with crime. _Why couldn't you find fascinating other things?_ She repeatedly asked both myself and herself. Journalism, for example. Fashion, perhaps. Plants, even. Anything but criminals, psychopaths for that matter. I always answered her: psychos hold the most interesting of minds. And I wanted to know how those minds worked. It was kind of idealistic, but my line of thought followed the trail of felonies and crimes until a profile was sketched in my head. Afterwards I theorized, basing my hypothesis on the evidence my colleagues and I found. Then I had to flesh the criminal in cuestion out, and hope I hadn't overlook any details. Basically, I was a profiler. So far my career seemed to be developing in small steps; the first one was quitting my internship at Arkham Asylum and joining the GPD. It hadn't been easy. It was rumoured that there were more chances to get killed inside the police force by both, Gotham's scum and the own officers, than at 3.00 am in an alley with a lighted sign above your head. Not to mention I didn't fancy wearing a badge and handcuffs attached to my hip. God knows how many jokes could be made out of there. But, apparently, that's also the place I'd have more chances to _actually_ interact with murderers and the worst of the Narrows. That's, them being properly concious and not drugged up to their eyeballs as in Arkham.

So, one day I left my position inside the dilapidated cubicle I was supposed to call office within the Asylum and went off to become the new cop in the city... Yep, not so easy. The physical part was a royal pain, literally. It took me about a year to get fit enough to pass the tryouts. The rope climbing was serious stuff... At the second time, I managed to get into the police force as officer Emilee Porter... Yep, my criminal psychology major and all that jazz had been profusely ignored regarding my new position at the GPD. At that time I honestly thought it was the dumbest thing ever; if I already had the qualification, then why not give me a rank according to my studies? It seemed fair enough, and that 'equality' policy at the moment sounded like bullshit if you asked me. You can imagine then, my first cases were way different from what I had hoped to get my hands into. I still remember my first case ever as an official cop; a burglary committed by a sixteen-year-old lad. At first sight, not much to analyze there. The boy wanted bucks to buy food, drugs and maybe a life more worthy. Yet, I remember the accusation in his eyes as I watched him sitting in the interrogation room, telling me I was to be blamed for the current situation he was in... at least partially. Considering I had insisted on calling the prosecutor of minors, I guess it was fair. But his eyes, his attitude... Everything about him made me fully realize that there was more to the crime world than just mastermind killers. The world wasn't a great mystery novel, nor an action movie; I had always been aware of that much, but living things first hand always gives you a better view of the picture. That's also why I understood the reasons for naming me as another officer; my inexperience was painfully obvious. However, since then on, I took my new position much more seriously, venturing out of the station and my office. Now I wanted to see the social issues these youngsters were experiencing, try to help them. And I found out I actually loved my job, even if not everything were perks. Now, two years later, I was proud to say I had made a difference. At least I was totally convinced I had in one girl's life. It was less than a year ago, but I still could feel the same relief and tingle in my wrists. Nevermind, it was also the moment I dumped Hugh Morgan, the same prosecutor who took charge of the burglar boy. Although I wouldn't say _'dump'_ is the right choice of words. We didn't have a typical relationship whatsoever. No, we were both more practical; instead we were friends with benefits, if you know what I mean. That's why I find it so weird that right now I was safely wrapped in his arms. I blinked a couple of times. My father and his new wife were there too. Actually, more people than I ever imagined had shown up. Among the crowd were old friends that shed sincere tears, distant relatives who showed up out of mere courtesy and even some workmates from the Gotham Times.

The priest had been talking, yet I had heard no sound. Now he had closed his Bible and was keeping silence as the coffin got lowered into the the tomb. I began to regain physical conciousness of my body. My french-manicured hands had been gripping Hugh's suit jacket so forcefully that I was surprised he hadn't moved an inch. One of his strong, tanned hands was rubbing soothing circles on the small of my back, the other one was caressing gently my long, blonde locks. His half-shaved chin had been comfortably set atop my head, until I began to move out of his embrace. With a quick move of my hand, I brushed aside the tears clinged to my lower lids and cheeks. Even if it was too late for it, I didn't want to be seen crying. Hugh gave me space, but remained by my right side with his open palm still placed on my back. I could feel his heat through the fabric of my pitch black dress. My best friend, Dr. Carrie Watson, as well as her brother were by my other side too. Otherwise, no more people close to me had come. I had wanted it that way. Carrie, God bless her, silently wrapped an arm around my shoulders. Even though I didn't return her one-side hug, I allowed myself to be pulled close to her. The coffin finally disappeared of sight, and the gravediggers proceeded to cover the tomb. One by one, each visitor left hesitantly the cemetery. Some approached me again to communicate me, once more, their condolences. I merely nodded, pressing my chapped lips in a thin line. I recognized Erica, a colleague of my mother. She was a short woman with a lovely smile and a brunette, pixie haircut. Today, however, she didn't have a smile to offer me; instead her dark eyes were shining due to the restrained tears, much like my own. She took both of my hands in hers, whereas her wife stood a couple of steps behind, trying to give us some privacy.

"I'm really sorry, Emilee. Alice was such a beautiful person." I breathed in sharply, blinking a few times.

"Yes." I said; my voice, usually more high-pitched than I'd normally admit, now sounded hoarse, as if I hadn't drunk water for days. I didn't dare to add anything else. I wanted to thank her, but I dreaded that if I talked any further I would find myself crying again. Thankfully she just nodded and, giving my cold hands a last squeeze, she left.

Finally, only six people remained. My father and his wife approached us. Today, Thomas Porter had decided to wear a more casual outfit, opting for a black Michael Kors jacket and white shirt, no tie though. His recent second wife, Georgine Habdoy, had chosen black too, in particular a Prada dress which —surprisingly— withheld any display of her clevage. My father had dark circles underneath his eyelids and looked as if he had aged a decade all of sudden. An awkward silence fell upon us, until my stepmother broke it tentatively. "I'm so sorry Emilee..." I directed my blue gaze towards hers. She was pretty, blonde too although unlike me, dyed. She breathed in, uncomfortable. Good. My father then took the next line.

"Can we talk alone, Emi?" I bit my tongue to not snap at him and dryly nodded. Carrie dropped her arm from my shoulders and Hugh took a step back. We walked away from the rest, not sparing a glance to each other. "Honey," I mentally cringed, "I know we don't have a... strong bond anymore, but I want you to know that I'm here for anything you need." He stopped walking, and I had no option but to mirror him. I faced him, trying not to cross my arms. He was taller than me even with my stilettos on.

"I know." I simply said. And I _did_ know that... He was my father after all. Even if when I was sixteen he screwed the bimbo who had been hanging today from his arm, while my mother was helping me get over my first serious crush or my homework, I knew. I didn't need him, but I knew he would be there for me nonetheless. He wasn't a faithful partner, a terrible husband indeed, but an okay father. Probably a good one had I let him in. Not knowing what else to say, I observed how his left cheek sunk as he bit it. Hesitantly, he raised his right arm and, almost as if he was afraid of scaring me away, softly ran a finger down the side of face. My jaw tensed slightly, but otherwise I didn't move a muscle. He dropped his arm.

I cleared my throat. "It's getting late," Big fat lie. "I better go home."

He nodded. I could see the remorse radiating from each pore of his skin and every gesture he made. But, as always, nothing happened. No more words, no physical contact. I'd rather have it that way. At least today. One day I would forgive him, I was sure of that, but not today. Not when I had just seen my mother being buried. I swallowed before speaking. "Take care." I reluctantly said, bidding him farewell. He nodded twice.

"You too, hon." I took a deep breath and, after sparing him one last glance, I swiftly turned around, my Louboutins clicking against the stones as I strode down the path, towards the gates. I got into my car, holding tightly the wheel with both of my hands. The hole in my chest was open again, and tears were now falling from my eyes. I sobbed once, twice maybe, before getting back control over my body. The pain would never go away, but it would get easier with time. Drying my face with a tissue, I took my purse from the passenger seat and fished my phone out.

 _"I've already gone, sorry. E"_ I texted Carrie and Hugh. Afterwards, I threw the device back inside my purse and turn on the radio. Once I found _Sky. FM Classic Rock_ I turned the volume wheel so loud that _The Police_ could be heard from within a thousand miles of distance. I sped up the car and drove off.

* * *

A knock echoed through my office, making me look up from the file I was checking. "Come in." I called. The door opened obediently and through it stepped none other than Sergeant Jim Gordon. Guess you could say he's my boss. His kind blue eyes focused on my appearance, going from my chin to end up on my eyes. It seemed like he hadn't noticed anything out of place; my usual makeup was on, my eyes weren't weepy anymore and my paleness was now its normal shade. He adjusted his glasses a little before closing the door smoothly.

"How are you, Emilee?" He asked, taking some steps towards my desk. I blinked before allowing my facade to fall ever so slightly. Jim Gordon was one of the very few people I allowed to take a peek beneath my mask. This meeting didn't surprise me; in fact, I was almost shocked that he hadn't come to me before. Today I had just gone back to the station, after two extra days of mourning aside from the three usual days given to every officer in case of a relative's passing. It was courtesy of Gordon's insistence. I wasn't feeling well; this morning I had skipped breakfast but I didn't want to stay at home any longer. There I had no work to do, nothing to make myself busy. The only distraction I got had been a one night stand I'd asked out of Hugh. He had agreed without complaint. I left the paper I was holding on top of the pile that sat on my desk and easily rested my arms on the armrests of the rigid office chair.

"Better." I answered truthfully. I wasn't so devasted anymore but, like I said, I wasn't feeling well. Gordon took a seat in front of me.

"Is that true?" He asked me paternally, arching an eyebrow. I smirked sadly, probably plasting a grimace instead of a convincing half-smile on my face.

"Partially..." I told him, averting my eyes towards one of the windows behind him. I gazed back at him. "It will take time, but I'll be fine."

He nodded, "I don't doubt it... I'm really sorry for your loss, Em. You know that you have my permission to get a day off if you need it."

I pursed my lips. "That won't be necessary, I've already delayed enough work."

He sighed. "Emilee, I know you're a psychologist, so you should know that avoiding the problem won't make it disappear."

I raised my chin. "I'm not avoiding anything, nor anybody."

"I'm just saying, loading yourself with paperwork won't be productive to either your health or your work." He scolded me gently after a brief pause. I took a deep breath before sighing.

"What should I do then?" I asked, "Spend my time in other psychologist's divan? My mother died five days ago of a disease. There are far worse things happening in Gotham and deaths a triple more atrocious. I refuse to wallow in self-pity." I told him determinatedly. He leaned a little back in the chair, taking a deep breath of his own while his darker eyes scrutinized me once more. I swallowed thickly. "I truly appreciate your concern, Gordon. Really." I added, softening my gaze, "But I'm not as fragile and Barbie-ish as I look... I want to be back in the field."

After a moment of silence, he stood up and marched towards the door. He paused with his hand on the doorknob, turning to look at me. "If you want to go back to the field, then you need to get out of this office. Reed and Flass are taking patrol around the Narrows in ten minutes." With that and a minuscule lift of his lips' right corner, he left.

* * *

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ **I don't own _The Dark Knight_ , any of its original characters, its plot, etc. I get no benefits while writing this fanfiction. Any similarity you may find with another fanfic it's just pure coincidence, since I've read lots of them and have got some ideas from them and/or their respective authors.**

 **Any description and mention of monuments, art, organisations, etc, recognisable is truthful and has tried to be reproduced as accurately as possible.**

 **However, I do own Emilee Porter, Carrie Watson, and any other OC which has appeared or will appear in this story.**

* * *

 **A.N/: I will only post once the disclaimer above this author's note. So that's all for now, I hope you enjoyed your reading!**

 **Good, bad, awful, amazing...? It's just a little teaser, but as said before, all opinions are welcomed, so don't forget to review, please!**

 **Until next time.**

 **~Se acerca el invierno**


	2. Heroine Complex

_**1\. Heroine Complex**_

 _Gotham City, 2:43 am. 2 months later._

A breath of white steam materialized in front of me as I released all the air that filled my lungs. The heels clicked against the cement floor as I walked by the line of ferries docked a few metres from my right. Nervously, I pulled down my mini-skirt again. I think it's the first time I'm truly scared for my life; maybe the _'dumb blonde'_ expression had some truth after all, because now it certainly felt foolish to have left my Glock in the car. A little sound, like electronic static, buzzed in my right ear before it was replaced by a male voice.

"...ah! Farrah, you hear me girl?"

I gulped before answering. "Yeah, I hear you Reed. Must you use the nickname now of all times?"

"C'mon, don't be mad. Anyway, you see him?" My colleague asked me. I observed every corner in the docks, the ferries, the edge of every container, but my pupils only caught glimpse of different steady shadows.

"Negative." I answered, keeping my voice in a whisper. That I didn't see him didn't mean he wasn't here. Not helping myself, I guided my fingers to lightly touch the bug stuck on my lower back, hidden by my top and jacket.

"Don't worry, we got your back." Reed assured me, as if sensing my fear. "Anyway, it's almost 3:00 am. Maybe he won't even come tonight."

Even though I was alone, I shook my head in response before speaking. "It's been more than a week since he last acted, and there's new moon." I swallowed saliva again. "He won't resist any longer." I told him confidently, remembering the tentative profile I had made of him. Another two fellow female agents were also wandering the streets now, the three of us exhibitioning ourselves as fresh meat. One of them, Claudia, was near the bridge that connected Gotham with the next city. My other peer, whose name I believe was Valerie, was in the local park. Each of us had a police presence and two SWAT units watching over us. "Reed, I'll take a last look... Don't go too far guys." I added in a whisper.

"We have your back, Emilee, don't worry." He told me again.

"You better be..." My soprano voice murmured in response. I walked for several minutes while forcing my pace to be slower than usual. The high-boots' heels clicked rithmically in an _andante_ beat until I reached the end of the docks, where I paused for a second, watching the calm waters moving at the cool night breeze's vagary. Their blackness was so deep that it was difficult to see where did the surface rest. At my right side an enormous ship, the last of the line, was the source of the strong smell of petroleum that ruled this part of the docks. Ignoring the suffocating scent, I looked up to the moonless sky, briefly thinking that, at least, my mother wasn't alive to worry herself sick with my actual predicament. My father had tried to talk with me more often this last two months. I really didn't have much time to appreciate his concern, though, nor to answer his calls, for that matter. We had been investigating this guy for longer than a month now. I couldn't allow myself any distractions, especially not when this case had been the only thing that had managed to bring me back some of my vitality. I sighed; sooner or later I'd have to speak with him. Plus, he usually isn't so insistent. He must have something important to tell me.

When I was about to turn on my heels, I noticed it. There, the unmistakable pointy edge of a switchblade in my left side. "No funny business, blondie. A single kick or scream, and I'll cut ya open." A raspy voice echoed in my left ear while the air that filled my nostrils was substitued by the smell of garlic. "Now, what'sa hooker like ya doin' all alone in the middle of nowhere uh?" I bit my tongue. "Answer me!"

 _"Fuck! Why didn't I hear him come?!"_ I couldn't help but think as my breath began to gain speed. _"No, no, no, none of that."_ My command was strong, determined, but so easy to forget... I closed my eyes tightly, forcing my head to grow cold. The GPD and SWAT agents weren't far, and we're going to get this bastard behind bars. "A client bailed out on me."

"How rude," He said, both of his words tinted in mockery. "Now," He pressed the knife deeper into my side, not breaking the clothes' fabric yet, though. With that, he made me turn around while he moved with me, placing himself by my right side whereas his left arm lazily rested on my shoulders and his armed hand lodged itself near my ribcage, where the switchblade was applying its threatening pressure. A single stab over there, and my lung could be punctured. "We're gonna take a little walk over there," He moved his hooded face towards one of the containers, a red one. "And then we can have some fun; what ya say, hmm?" He looked at my blank face and crooked a lecherous smirk. "My, aren't ya too pretty for a slut? Seems like it's my lucky day..."

* * *

"Shit! He's there!" Jim Gordon shrieked upon hearing the male voice, just as the younger cop accompaining him launched his hands to the radio's mic.

"The Vampire got Porter!" Agent Samuel Reed frantically spoke into the radio of the GPD patrol car from the passenger seat. "He's taking her somewhere, but we don't have visual." The ginger-haired man spat another code before continuing with the report. "SWAT, here Second Detective Reed and Sergeant Gordon, be ready to intervene at any time. Officer Porter is being taken!"

* * *

"Ya see that lock, babe? Pull at it with all your strenght, it'll break as easily as your neck if ya try to run away." The bastard said, gesturing towards the oxidated lock of the container. I was aware his height and strenght surpassed mine by far, and the knife stopped me from trying out a reckless attack. Seeing no other option to ensure my safety, I took two steps forward before obeying. The lock gave in easily enough, leaving the containers' doors ajar. He wrapped his arm around my neck while pressing me against his body. I controlled my urge to fight him, especially after feeling his boner against my hip. Then, with his other hand, the Vampire pushed one of the doors open as he viciously whispered, "Good hooker. Now, get in." He let go of my neck, making me almost trip with my own foot.

I briefly looked at the depraved, whose switchblade was still aimed at me, and he crooked me another smirk. "C'mon, ya afraid of the dark? Don't worry, I gotta flashlight so we don't miss anything."

I gazed back to the front, watching the entrance. Before entering, a wave of genius inspiration overcame me, making me subtly drop the ring that previously stood in my right middle finger. I assumed he hadn't noticed, because the next second the knife was again in my back, this time between my shoulder blades, forcing me to step inside the lion's den.

* * *

"Come on, where did she last go to?" Jim Gordon barked as they got down the car.

"She was just walking up and down the dock, last time I think she was going up!" Reed answered his superior, both of them already with their bullet proof vests secured.

"To the oil tanker then. We're looking for a place with a lock broken!" He told loudly to the SWATs, his voice raising so nobody could unhear him. "Comb the place! Go!" The SWATs wasted no time and followed the two running men, the guns full with bullets, their eyes sharply observant and their skilled fingers on the triggers.

* * *

As the Vampire closed the door, blocking it with something that to me looked like a crowbar, a sudden darkness surrounded us, provoking my hands to tremble even more. My armprits were sweating as well. _"If he finds the bug..."_ A sudden brightness blinded me for several seconds, making me blink a couple of times and raise a hand to protect my eyes from the flashlight he was pointing at me. "Dammit, ya're really hot. C'mon, undress. Let's see what's under all that leather."

He lowered a little the flashlight, pointing it at my cleavage instead. I didn't move, I didn't obey. I'd like to say that I didn't due to my courage, a rebellious streak that forced me not to give into the fantasies of this maniac, but it's a lie. I stood frozen in shock and fear. That feeling and angst only increased when I realized I could just barely make out his tall shilouette, but nothing more. My attacker stood in the pitch-black darkness of the tall, empty container. So he had had it planned for tonight... I flinched when his angry voice shouted impatiently. "Do it!"

But I didn't. _"Gordon, Reed, c'mon!"_ I needed to think of something, and soon. When I remained still, all it took him was two long strides and his hand closed around my neck, pushing me into the wall; I winced in pain. "I'll do it myself." He muttered to himself while putting the flashlight between his teeth. I difficultly gulped; he had sharpened his teeth, imitating those of a shark. His hands ripped the leather jacket, immediately afterwards throwing it to the side. As he roughly cupped one of my breasts saliva began to form in the corners of his mouth. _"Ugh_ _."_ His other hand was beginning to reach for my lower back. Perhaps it was the wrath I felt when he pawed me, or maybe the fear that he would discover the bug; I don't know what made me finally snap out of my fear when anger and adrenaline finally overcame any feeling of dread. I scooped my hands out a little, then —with all of my strenght— I slapped them over both of his ears. Succesfully enough, it made him cry out in pain. The flashlight hit the floor. I tried to push him from me, but the hand in my back formed a fist with a handful of my hair in it, pulling vicously at it. "Ya bitch!"

* * *

"Quickly, we're running out of time!"

* * *

I yelled in pain as my neck was forced to bend backwards, leaving my throat exposed. The knee that had been pressed between my legs raised in anger, releasing a blow on my stomach, while the hand with the switchblade began to cut my top. Had it not been for the other hand that gripped my hair, I would have doubled over my middle. I tried to move my own hands and kick him, but he remained still, as if he was just welcoming a lover's touch. "Stop!" He barked uselessly, since I kept fighting. I could barely see anything.

The switchblade moved towards my back, ready to cut the bra's strip when the blade collided with something much more solid. Both of us froze, breathing heavily. Before I could process it, he had made me turn around while taking the flashlight from the floor, pointing it at my back. I groaned as he ripped the bug from my skin. "Ya with the cops?!" The Vampire asked in panic.

 _"Damn!"_

* * *

Gordon and Reed reached the end of the docks after a couple of minutes. Yet, a single look told them that it was impossible to get inside the ship now. No rooms or offices were around, nothing with the broken lock.

"No gangway, boss." Reed said, attempting to get his breath back in a more soundless way. He had to quit smoking, soon.

"I see that," Gordon replied, casting a last glance to the oil tanker, afterwards turning around. "They must be inside one of this, it's impossible they got out of the docks." Said he, more to himself than to the detective. Gordon supressed a sigh; there were hundreds of containers, and for them, each passing second meant success or failure.

* * *

The Vampire threw me to the ground out of rage, and I landed on my back with a hard crash against the metal floor. I groaned in pain, containing a scream. I saw the flashlight advancing towards me, once again held between his teeth. _"He's gonna rape me, even if it's the last thing he does before going to jail."_ Confirming my thoughts, he kneeled in front of my bare legs. I didn't move; now I could only see red. _"No, you_ won't _."_

He rudely separated my legs by pulling my knees apart, then clutched my thighs and pushed me against his groin. The imbecile was still wearing his pants. He unzipped them, not bothering to take them off, then put both of his hands on my shoulders with the thumbs resting above my throat. _"Now."_

With my right hand I grabbed his left wrist at the same time that I hit his chin upwards with the palm of my left hand. He moaned in pain, the flashlight almost falling against my face. When his head inevitably moved up, my right heel kicked his left knee, hard. The reaction was immediate; right after I felt his leg moving backwards, I threw all my weight to my right side, taking the Vampire with me as I stopped, the positions now changed. Taking advantage of my place on the top, I pressed my left forearm on his throat, making him gasp for air. Since he opened his mouth like a fish, the flashlight went down too, making it even more difficult for him to breath. I quickly guided his left arm to my left, turning him over so he was laying upside down on the floor. Not helping myself, I punched his nape once before controlling my anger. I then used the top he had cut from me as improvised handcuffs, securing them firmly on his wrists. I stood up, not straddling his back anymore, and then roughly took the flashlight from his mouth. I first checked the floor for the switchblade, which during some time of the fight had fallen to the floor, and I took with me, then pointed the light towards his face. The hand in which I held the knife pulled down the hood he'd been wearing all this time. "Who are ya?" He muttered exhausted against the floor, his cheek resting there.

"Certainly not a hooker." My voice hissed, and before I could process what I was doing I found myself jerking his head up after grabbing his thick, black hair, forcing him to look at me. "I'm officer Porter of the GPD, and I will be the one that ensures you'll never crawl out from the hole you'll be sent to."

* * *

Gordon and Reed had been checking all of the containers they could, aided by a SWAT troop of fourteen agents and two more colleagues of the GPD, whereas the rest were still combing the docks. They had checked twelve containers, all of them keeping their assigned propriety instead of the police officer and the rapist they were looking for.

Jim Gordon was beginning to get more anxious than he was allowed to be; in all this time, Emilee could've already been discovered, or worse. The voice of Detective Reed made him instantly turn around and run to meet him, a lantern in both men's hands. "What is it, Reed?"

The redhead showed him something he was holding in his other hand. "Emilee's ring; found it in front of this one, sir." He jabbed the lantern towards the red container that stood before them, a lock resting on the floor beside it. They exchanged a brief glance before Gordon lifted his leg and kicked the doors. They barely moved.

"SWAT, open this one!"

* * *

First we heard someone trying to open the doors, then muffled yells. I breathed in a sigh of relief. _"Gordon."_ I walked towards the opposite end of the container, taking my leather jacket from the floor and putting it over my shoulders. A louder noise echoed through the whole place, once, twice, a third time before it stopped. Then, it was followed by the sound of a mechanical saw. After what felt like just some seconds, the container's doors were taken to the side by eight SWAT agents. Gordon was the first to enter, followed by Reed and four more SWATs. They first gazed at me, and I noticed amusedly that Reed's cheeks were turning the same color as his hair upon seeing me just with my boots, ragged skirt, my bra and the jacket I was trying to use to cover my modesty.

He was _so_ in for a little teasing.

* * *

A hand grasping a coffee cup appeared below my nose, making me glance up from the hand offering it to the kind face that watched me. I returned him the smile. "You know I don't drink coffee, Sergeant."

"Yes, that's why I actually filled this with Earl Grey. It lacks the milk, though, I could only get some sugar packs." Said he, opening his other hand to offer me three small packs, making me smile. I nodded in thanks, then opened the plastic cover and poured two of the sugar packs, stirring it with the straw that accompained the cup as I allowed myself to get mesmerized with the action. "You were really brave back there."

I looked back to him, grasping the blanket that a paramedic had placed on my shoulders. I watched around me; most of the SWATs had already gone in two vans, one of them scorting the criminal we had caught, whereas an ambulance and the patrol car remained. The rest of the team had already been informed of the success of operation Transylvania. Thank God that in the car's truck were some clothes for me; a grey sweatshirt and navy blue pants matching each other in style, size and age. Not very fashionable, but hey! Even if they were a bit too loose for me, anything was better than my destroyed prostitute costume. "Just so you know, I expect a raise from this one." I told him.

Gordon chuckled at my lame joke which, by the way, wasn't a joke. After all the crap I just went through, I wanted 10 more bucks in my income for each second I spent with the Vampire. "I'm certain you'll get more than a raise." After glancing at him, I took a sip of my tea. I had already sworn five times to every paramedic and colleague that I was fine, so I truly appreciated that Gordon wasn't harassing me with questions concerning my well-being or sanity.

"A bigger office, then." I told him, making him shook his head in mild-disbelief while grinning. The corner of my lips went up too; the Sergeant's smile was too contagious.

"One of the youngest members of the GPD caught a serial rapist on her own, of course, after coming up with the guy's profile and, let's not forget, the constant aid and support of her handsome partner." Another voice interrupted us, the owner of it circling the car's front to get to the open back door, where I was resting. "I can already see the headlines. You're in for a month of civilian's praising, press covers and claps on your back, Farrah."

I squinted my eyes. "Why do you keep calling me that, Chucky?"

"Yes, what's with the nickname?" Asked Gordon too, looking towards Detective Reed, my partner. He returned our look, bemused, ignoring my childish retort.

"None of you've never seen Charlie's Angels?" My eyes rolled.

"Please, don't tell me-"

"Farrah Fawcett, whom you're exactly inaccurately like, Porter, I tell you."

Gordon chuckled upon seeing my embarrasment. "You watched the show?" He asked Reed.

"My little sister got obsessed with it, so I didn't really have much of a choice, sir." Reed told him, sheepishly scratching the back of his head.

"Well, Detective, officer," He greeted us respectively. "I'll see you tomorrow." Gordon bid us farewell, still smiling faintly. "Get some rest, it's been a long night."

I nodded. Both, Reed and I, muttered a _'Goodnight, sir.'_ before he turned around and got into his own car. Reed took a couple of steps until he was in front of me.

"Am I forgiven if I give you this?" I raised an eyebrow in question, to which he opened his palm, allowing me to gaze at the object that rested there.

I gazed back at him. "C'mon, you can do better than this, Sam. Unless you bow your knee and ask properly, the answer is no." He let out a sigh of frustration before lowering his right knee.

He offered me the ring, holding it with the thumb and index finger. "Emilee Porter, my beautiful goddess of justice, will you honor me accepting my apologies?" I grinned while suppressing a chuckle.

"I forgive you." I declared as I offered him my middle finger. Reed couldn't hide the crack of his own amused grin as he slid in it the ring I had both, earned from my mother and dropped moments before.

"You want a ride?" Asked my partner as he got back to his full height, towering over me.

"Sure." While he was positioning himself in front of the wheel, I stood up, marching towards the ambulance. I returned the blanket and thanked them once more, then walked back to the patrol car.

"Where to?" After some seconds in which I remained quiet, Reed glanced at me. We had been partners since day one, so it shouldn't be a wonder that —after two years— he read me easily enough to know I didn't know where I wanted to go. "You know, my place is packed but we can always make room for one more." He offered, earning for himself one of my smiles.

* * *

Dr. Carrie Watson was used to waking up in the middle of the night. Usually due to emergencies. Any of her patients could have a mental breakdown at any time, sending her bipper crazier than them. Other times her sleep would be deprived because of the arguments of her neighbors from above, the typical couple whose fights and reconciliations were too constant and loud for her liking. Rarely, the blame would fall onto herself. What had never woken her up before, though, was the sound of her apartment's doorbell. Certainly, what had never got her out of bed before at 4:17 am was her bestie, officer Emilee Porter.

No, she was sure never before her friend had shown up in her doorstep out of the blue. As a psychiatrist herself, she immediately knew something was up with her. Not that she, nor anybody, needed a PhD to know. "Emilee? How dare you break into my abode, interrupting my beauty sleep?" She greeted her after opening the door.

Her friend raised an eyebrow. "I taught you every sassy, sarcastic remark you make at me, so I have every right to show up at my padawan's house."

Both of them mantained eye contact for a moment before laughing. Ever the touchy type, Carrie embraced her friend before moving aside, inviting her to enter the place. Her hazel eyes observed the baggy clothes Emilee was wearing; gym clothes for the GPD agents, way too used and tatty. "What's with the outfit, by the way? I like it, grungy-comfy is the new black."

Porter looked at her from above her shoulder, not missing the drift. "I love your dark sense of humor." She retorted head-on, earning a chuckle. Emilee was the only one she allowed to joke on her skin color, especially after she initiated the joke.

"You want anything?" Her velvet voice asked her as the blonde sat down on the couch.

"Water will do, thanks." She opened the fridge and poured the liquid up to the middle of the glass, then filled the rest of it with the tap's water so the temperature wouldn't be too cold. After letting her friend drink, she just sat there, waiting for her to tell her what had happened. It took them five minutes in complete silence, but finally, Emilee opened up to her. "We got him. I, got him... I got the Vampire." Emilee chuckled wryly. "I still find it hard to believe."

Carrie continued to stare at her, still not talking. She did remember the profile her friend had written on the GPD's newest prey. A serial rapist that had abused of a total of ten prostitues all over Gotham. All of them were young and blonde, age between 20 and 25, Caucasian and of lower class, unlike a call girl. The guy himself, well. Emilee told her her partner had come up with the name, the Vampire. A man between 35 and 45 years old, tall, well-built, not particularly ugly and with a dominance complex. He had earned the name due to the victim's stories; the ten of them said his breath always smelled like garlic, plus he had always raped them in dark places, where he wasn't illuminated by any lights. At most, he had casted light on them, but never on himself. He had always raped them before 3:00 am, during moonless nights and nearby natural water sources like lakes or the river. Emilee, with her twenty-six years of life, had fit the victimology perfectly. So operation Transylvania had begun, in which three female agents would go undercover to try to arrest the Vampire. Apparently, the operation had succeeded. Carrie doubted about asking her friend if she was alright; she knew her as if they were twins, and Emilee's temper could be strong, so to speak. At least at first sight she didn't seem physically injured.

"How are you?" She ended up asking, regardless of her previous thoughts.

Emilee took a deep breath. "Fine, I guess. He didn't rape me, the most he did was kick me once. But I gave him payback." She told her, half-smiling arrogantly. Carrie smiled a little too, knowing the blonde was using her arrogance as a shield; her friend was actually worried. The cop looked down briefly at her lap, then met her gaze for the first time. "I know the mental damage and consequences will show up, eventually. But," She paused briefly. "Is it odd I don't really feel anything right now?" She asked her.

Normally none of them would be each other's therapist; it was unprofessional, and both agreed that business and friendship shouldn't be mixed. There were exceptional moments, though. _"Like when your best friend has just confronted a rapist."_ Carrie thought to herself.

She let the blonde talk, not giving advice and asking every now and then a question or two until her friend had vented most of her worries, passing out fast asleep on her couch. After throwing a blanket over her, Carrie Watson checked her watch, supressing a sigh. 6:12. She better prepared herself for work.

* * *

 _2 days after_

For the fifth time, I dug my finger into the mouse's button, clicking it over the **'Delete'** option. Another email asking for an interview. If I ever found out who are the cops passing information to the media... Reed had been right; all of the newspapers wanted to cover an exclusive interview with the new Buffy Vampire slayer. Thank God no journalist knew my personal adress, nor had heard Reed's new nickname for me.

All of sudden, my office's door bursted open and my partner's head peaked out through it. "Loeb's office, now." With that, he disappeared, leaving me with a frown in my forehead.

After turning off my computer, I walked up to the office Reed had hurriedly appointed. I knocked twice before a simple _'come in'_ granted me the entrance. Comissioner Loeb briefly looked up to me before gazing back at the paper resting on his desk. "You called for me, sir?" Asked I as I closed the door behind me. He nodded in response.

"Yes, sit down, Porter." I did. After a moment, Loeb's black eyes looked up to my own blue. He offered me a newspaper, the Gotham Times especifically, which I wordlessly took.

 **"GPD'S AWAITED SUCCESS."** The headline said. "Read the first paragraph, that'll be enough." Said the Commissioner, who now was observing me with his fingers criss-crossed below his chin and his back against the office chair that was his throne in the station. I obeyed after a second of hesitation.

 **"After two years of civilian impotence facing the apparent apathy of Gotham's police force before the new waves of crime that have been hitting the city, almost as badly as when Thomas Wayne and his wife Martha were murdered years ago, finally the public has been able to hear about the force's most recent -and seemingly only- success, the detention of the rapist known as _'The Vampire'_. Reliable sources affirm that said detention was possible due to one person, one of the female officers and biggest promises within the GPD apparently. Will this mysterious lady cop make a declaration anytime soon worth calling her Gotham's heroine?"**

The article continued in a separated paragraph. I clenched my jaw in anger, already making a list of the possible blabbermouths I would have to beat for leaking this information. "I take it you aren't pleased either, Porter." Loeb's voice dryly commented, making me glance up.

"Not only does the article portray us as a bunch of incompetents but it also compromises my identity and privacy, sir." I replied, leaving the paper on his desk.

"Very observant, Porter." He positioned his hands on the armrests, leaning a little forward. "I called you here because I want you to accept an interview with the same reporter that wrote this." His long finger gestured to the newspaper. "Give the official version of the case and shut everybody's mouth." The tension kept accumulating in my jaw as I forced my palms to stay open over my lap. The uniform's blue shirt felt pretty tight on my chest too.

"But sir, I-"

"No buts, it's an order. We've already given an official press conference, but seems like people now want to hear you, not me." He sharply cut my protest. "I want you to make the citizens empathize with us, see our point and that we do more than lick Falcone's ass and take bribes." I contained a scoff, since that was exactly what at least an 80% of the GPD did. And I have been suspecting for a while that Commissioner Loeb was among Gotham's selected choice of corrupts.

"I don't think it's a good idea, sir. Sergeant Gordon re-opened Falcone's case and he wants me to form part of the team; I need to warrant the secrecy of my identity." I tried to reason. Loeb briefly looked to the desk's corner, deep in thought.

"Yes, he mentioned that..." He mumbled to himself. A moment later, he looked up. "I'll speak with the managers and the journalist. If we come to an agreement to protect your identity, you're taking the interview." I breathed in sharply.

"Yes, sir." I stood up, striding towards the door.

"Porter," He called me out one last time, forcing me to momentarily stop my feet and twist my waist so I could glance back at him. "I'm not done yet. Sit down." He calmly ordered as my cheeks reddened in a mixture of embarrassment and frustration. "Linda Hargraves and the rest of journalists aren't the only ones interested in you." I slightly frowned. "Mayor García talked to me this morning. Seems like I should also congratulate you, Detective Porter. Good job." He said, standing up as his hand went out to shake mine. My lips had parted slightly, so I quickly closed them and followed him, taking his offered hand.

"I... Thank you, sir."

We both let go. "We'll make it official after the interview, in a week time or so. In any case, you'll be notified." He sat down, gesturing with his hand. "You can go now."

Right after I walked out, praying I wouldn't be forced to take the interview.

Funny how Life, God, the Devil, Karma or whatever supernatural deity that managed the world doesn't give a damn about mortal pleas.

* * *

"Now, that's an improvement." Carrie stated upon seeing me, referring to the GPD tracksuit I had worn the night I showed up in her apartment. I briefly looked over my shoulder to the reflection in the mirror of the fitting room. A sleeveless, dark green, cocktail dress with V neck hugged my body as a second skin, leaving the fabric loose enough to make it look elegant instead of suffocatingly tight. The black stilettos and lightly red lipstick color just added the perfect touch to the outfit. "Remind me, at which time you gotta meet the viper?"

I grinned, facing her. "21:00. She insisted on having dinner at ' _The Dorsia'_."

Carrie snorted. "She's got good taste at least."

A shop assistant came to us, smiling. "It looks gorgeous on you, miss!" I faked a smile, tired of her over-enthusiastic compliments. Honestly, I found them unnecessary, but I guess Pretty Woman hit a nerve in boutique workers.

"I'll take it. Could I leave it on?" The assistant green eyes gleamed pleased.

"Of course, miss. If you'd followed me..." Carrie and I exchanged a glance before walking up to the counter to pay for the dress, my jeans and shirt already neatly folded within the store's bag. We walked to Carrie's car, me getting in the passenger seat with the receipt in my hand. I frowned, feeling faintly guilty upon reading the 120$ written on it. I closed my hand in a fist.

"So," I turned to the doctor that was driving like crazy. No matter how much I love her, my psychiatrist friend just doesn't know what speed limit is. "How is it that you got a free day? It's been quite some time since we last were able to go shopping together."

Carrie sighed in annoyance, stopping the car before a red light. "A patient had a crisis and almost killed himself. I don't know what happened..." She continued before I could ask. "It has never happened to me before. Once I've managed to stabilize my patients they don't change their demeanor so drastically all of sudden. Anyway, I'm getting quite obsessed with it, so Dr. Arkham assigned me the day off. Said I needed to get out of the Asylum." She sped up the car again after realizing the light was green once more. "Besides, I'm pissed off with another doctor."

I couldn't help but ask. "Who?"

She side-glanced over me before focusing again on the road. "You remember one of the two doctors you were assigned during your internship, Crane?"

I groaned. "He gave me the chills. Interesting person to have a conversation with, if he would allow others to participate and would swallow his arrogance." I bluntly stated, remembering the icy eyes that had looked at me as if I was an illiterated child wasting his time. "What's your issue with him aside from the obvious?"

"He recommend Dr. Arkham to transfer me to another wing of the Asylum, one with less dangerous patients." I noticed, her knuckles where hard as they gripped the wheel.

"He won't." I assured her. "You've proved yourself; this patient has just been an isolated case."

Carrie sighed once more. "That's what he told me. Anyway, what about you?"

I couldn't help but smile a little. "I've been promoted."

My friend twisted his neck so fast that I feared she would sprain it. "I _knew_ it!"

"Look at the road!" I yelled as a Mercedes and a Toyota horned at us. She did, slowing the car a little.

"I'm so proud of you blondie! When it's gonna be official?" Asked she, this time not averting her eyes from the traffic.

"A few days time I think." I smiled. "By the way, we've opened again the mafia case." She frowned, so I elaborated. "Gordon began to look up the files again a year ago, after Joe Chill's death anniversary."

"It's been five years from that." She pointed out.

"Yes, that's why Gordon began to think about all of the information Chill had passed to the department before the mafia ended him, and in all the things he could've told us if he were still alive." I paused for a second. "I'm telling you this because I'll be part of the team. Thought you should know." She glanced at me for a second with the word _doubt_ written all over her face. Apparently Gordon has confined very few people with his plan, and I was one of those people. We had to guess which agents were trustworthy. I felt honored he thought I was one of those agents... I mean, I have no illegal business or bank accounts, nothing to hide from him nor anyone. I seemed like a logical choice, but still.

"You know, if you get targeted, or worse, I'll kill you myself."

I grinned. "May Falcone's men take pity on me before you do."

* * *

It was 20:32 when I asked my friend to drive me to the restaurant. I didn't mind to arrive sooner than my meeting; in fact, quite the opposite.

Fifteen minutes later and after being escorted to my table, I glanced at the menu, already salivating at the sight of the names of each dish. Some minutes passed before another feminine voice adressed me. "I've been told the _foie_ and spinach _ravioli_ are particularly good." I looked up, colliding with two forget-me-not blue eyes, a black mane of hair and a row of white teeth greeting me. "Miss Porter?" I smiled tightly while leaving the menu on my plate, standing up from the chair.

"Linda Hargraves, I presume." I accepted the hand offered, shaking it twice before releasing it.

The journalist gave me a coy smile as we both sat down in front of each other. _"Let the fight begin."_

* * *

 **A.N/: Hello again! Here I present you the first chapter of the story, although I honestly consider it half of the first chapter, since I had to cut it here so it wouldn't be too long.**

 **Firstly, I apologize for not writing a warning at the beginning of the chapter due to the first scenes with the rapist. I didn't because, on one hand, I already warned in the prologue that this topics and scenes could eventually show up in the story (after all it's Batman we're talking about, guys!), and, on the other hand, because I personally hate author notes that go before the chapter instead of at the end; I think they kind of spoil it. Nevermind, I hope nobody felt particularly uncomfortable nor anything of the sort.**

 **Secondly, the current timeline of this chapter and the next is two years before the movie _"Batman Begins"_ starts.**

 **Lastly, thank you everyone who has read, followed, faved and reviewed! You all made my day :)**

 **Hope you like this one too.**

 **~Se acerca el invierno**


	3. The mighty Sun Bear

_**2\. The mighty Sun Bear**_

I could tell since the very first moment our eyes met; Linda Hargraves was a woman in whose vocabulary the word _'no'_ simply didn't exist. Dinner would be fun, then. I also wasn't surprised of she continuing the conversation as we waited for a waiter to approach our table.

"Wow..." She drawled the word with a tiny hint of irony, exchanging her coy smile for a small grin. I kept my chin high, refusing to raise an eyebrow at the implications she just pointed at. As I suspected, she did so herself. "I suppose the Vampire was an easy prey looking like that."

Indeed, straight to the open wound while testing the waters. My quick analysis of the journalist was concise. A woman who used all of her weapons; arrogant, for she was used to be the one in control, achieving what she wanted, and who would undoubtedly use my words as she pleased to get the story that would earn her more readers and fame... Great.

"Do you mind if I use the tape recorder?" She continued, already fishing the device out of her expensive, brand-name purse. I hope I didn't appear so pompous with my few own dessigner clothes.

"Be my guest." I answered. "I must admit, though, I'm intrigued by how would you have dinned while writing down my answers." I couldn't help but add with a little grin, the sarcasm queen within me already demanding to put this woman in her place. And we hadn't even ordered yet. Damn Loeb...

Linda Hargraves' smirk only grew bigger upon noticing my first impressions of her weren't exactly good. At perfect timing, a waiter approached us and we both told him our dishes. Following her own advice, the journalist asked for the _foie_ and _ravioli_ while I settled for _kobe_ beef and a salad. We handed our menus, keeping silent as the sommelier filled our cups. Once we were alone again, she pressed a small button on the recorder. "September, 7th. Time 21:13. Linda Hargraves interviewing officer Parker —under a pseudonym—, the mastermind behind the arrest of the serial rapist Gotham has come to know as 'The Vampire'."

And that was my cue to interfere. "I wasn't a mastermind, the arrest of the Vampire was a joint police operation in which two GPD units participated along with the SWATs. The teamwork was the key to success." I argued, making my voice sound calm as ever, as if I was explaining something to a child. I hated to admit it but the journalist's sweet fake smile was getting into my nerves.

"Of course," Her voice had turned just as honeyed as her features. "But it _is_ undeniable that your qualifications played a decisive role in the operation." She took out a sheet of paper from within her purse, then read out loud for the tape recorder to register it. "A major in criminal psychology, alongside a masters degree in criminal law," She placed the paper piece down, gazing back at me. "Is something worth bragging about, don't you think? Especially having in mind the current state of the security forces." There were again, those annoying innuendos.

I took a deep breath, not changing my facial expression. "Well yes, it's true I have a good qualification; by the way, I hope you recall _said_ qualification must not be specified, miss Hargraves. Anyway, the rapist's profile certainly was not the only lead the GPD had. Its historical notoriety may precede it, but I assure you the police department has never been more compromised with the citizens." The diplomatic words sounded lame and unpersonal even to me, but orders were orders. "We, the cops, are aware that we must earn again the citizens' trust, and certainly we cannot —and don't— blame them for our mistakes. But, little by little, we will amend those too."

Hargraves made a fake pout while a waiter placed our first dishes on the table. We thanked him at the same time and he flashed us a polite smile before carrying on with his serving duties. "How inspiring of you, officer." She began to delicatedly gather the _foie_ on her spoon as I added oil and salt to my salad. "As promising as that speech sounded, it's given me an idea." I began to mix the lettuce, cherry tomatoes and other foodstuff pilled within the bowl. "Why not tell us how did you get into the GPD? I'm sure the readers would love to know, I bet it must have been quite... interesting." I looked up as I stopped moving.

"My life is anything but interesting, and the application process was just the ordinary for any other person. Psychotechnical, personal interview and physical tryouts. See?" I smiled innocently before concluding, "Boring."

She swallowed a spoonfull of her meal, then answered me. "Certainly, although I was hoping for something more explicit." She left the spoon on the plate for a moment. "Think about it; wouldn't you like to know the most juicy details of your hero's life?" She asked rhetorically.

Not helping myself, I answered anyway. "A magician never reveals his tricks, so why should any hero uncover his identity? Isn't that why us people see them as such? Because you can't discern the flaws and scars of the person behind the persona?" My own questions finally got a genuine expression on the journalist's pretty visage, which became slightly thoughtful as she merely observed me. No mockery, no judgement. It gave me the perfect chance to continue my speech. "I'd personally prefer to keep the mystery. More fun then, don't you agree?" I sighed, subtly stabbing my salad again. "In any case, I'm no heroine. Just... another cop doing her job properly." I ate my fork of salad.

She kept silent for a few extra seconds, mulling over my words before her haughty mask returned to her features."If that's the case, I'm sure that sharing your own story may bring the citizens closer to the police force, seeing past the badges, guns, corruption and uniforms. Isn't that the road to empathy?"

"Not when there's a previous arrangement that ensures a person's anonymity." Said I, pausing my dinner to stare right into her eyes. It was the second time I gave her a warning.

"Fine then," She obliged after a tense moment. "How about your motivations? Did you always wish to become a cop? An unfulfilled heroine complex perhaps?"

I refrained myself from sighing in exasperation. I had to admit, the woman's persistence was a common trait we shared. I considered the questions, finally settling on answering them in a vague way and ignoring her ironic jabs. "When I was little the idea lingered on my mind from time to time, yes. When I grew up though, I didn't consider it again until I was in my early twenties. My main ambition was to understand the criminal minds." I told her truthfully.

"Sweet," Said Hargraves, faintly cocking her head to the side as she observed me once more. "Have you managed to?" It was my turn to smile sardonically, entirely pleased upon noticing the genuine curiosity in her voice.

"Hardly." For a split of second, she mirrored my smirk. Then she continued with the interview.

"What about your relatives, did your family play an important role in that decision?" We had both finished the first plates, so as they were taken away I fought the urge to narrow my eyes in suspicion. I sure as hell hoped she wasn't hinting at what I believed she was, for her own preservation.

"Not necessarily; I had their support, that was enough." I eventually answered. God, didn't she tire herself wearing that nerve-wracking grin all the time? I patiently waited for my meat as her _ravioli_ were served.

"Let's re-focus on the Vampire's case, shall we?" She began to mix the sauce, already speaking. "How did you figure out the guy's profile?" She ate the first bite of her dish just as mine arrived.

"Observing." I held the knife in my left hand as I began to cut the first piece. "Serial criminals tend to have a defined pattern of action that is only altered under determinated circumstances, and seldomly so. In this case, the Vampire targeted the same type of victims and in similar places within the city." I chewed onto the Japanese meat, almost moaning in pleasure. I had been pretty hungry and the meat was exquisite. "Once the team realized as much, the MCU was able to plan the ambush."

"Ah, yes. Three female agents infiltrated as baits. Impressive..." The journalist mellowly drawled. "If I remember correctly, all of the victims raped were prostitutes, correct?"

I nodded, chewing another piece of beef. We both already were done with half of our respective meals. "Yes," I mouthed. "Their testimony and cooperation was extremely important." I took another sip of wine; now both of my glasses, that one and the one with water, were only filled to their middle.

"Do any of them have a connection with Carmine Falcone?" She bluntly asked. I almost coughed, not prepared for the question.

"Pardon?" Asked I as I left the cup on the table.

"Normally nobody would've trusted the judicial and police systems, that's no secret. Especially someone who is transgressing the law to pay their bills." Linda Hargraves moved her plate aside before placing her forearms on the table and leaning her upper body forward in anticipation. I now had completely caught her drift.

I gulped, leaving on my plate the last piece of meat to answer her. "In this concrete case, it's hardly relevant. The goal of the operation was catching a serial rapist, not Falcone."

"But isn't it scary to think that the success of the GPD was —possibly— founded just on the order of a single man?" Asked she, a sort of predator gleam in her blue gaze. So _t_ _hat_ was the story she had been looking for; the reason why all of this was setted up in the first place. "A criminal nonetheless, owning the city." She added.

You clever bitch... Guess it takes two of a kind to know each other. I had to wonder how much unofficial information Linda Hargraves had managed to collect in her hands. I'd have to be extra-careful with what I said or didn't say around her. It also made me question, how many contacts did she actually have within the GPD...? Anyway, back to the point. In all honesty, she had nailed it; two of the prostitutes had connections with Falcone. One girl was being considered to form part of one of the various prostitution rings' he controls whereas the other already was part of them. The MCU didn't have any vital clues regarding the matter, though. But, yes, it was quite possible that the real king of crime in Gotham had pulled a string or two before his business truly were threatened, or one of his victims had enough and sided with the GPD. However, since that was classified information and I didn't like this woman, I responded instead. "As we estabilished before, it's no secret that the mafia's presence is palpable in the city, but the GPD isn't giving up. Days ago we caught a serial rapist; our interest will always be with the citizen, not the mob." I leaned back in my chair as our table was cleared, "The crime rate has decreased, slowly and in a scant amount, indeed, but _there's_ a difference. It takes an awfully long time to amend all of the errors and oversights we all have committed through the years, but it's not impossible."

Linda Hargraves leaned back on her own chair as she accepted the desserts list with a flirty smile for the young, handsome waiter. I simply smiled and thanked him, immensely pleased to see he did return my smile. Ha, another small victory for me.

"My, aren't you the optimistic type." The journalist wryly commented, looking unaffected by the subtle rejection. My thoughts were confirmed then, men were just another game for her.

"With my job, I have to be." I simply said, checking my watch. 21:47. Hopefully the interview will end soon.

"I'm convinced your mother would be proud." I froze, averting my eyes from the menu to look at the black-haired woman across from me, my jaw utterly tensed. Had she known my mother? As if she had read my mind, she told me. "She was quite admired at the offices, a great journalist. Pity she died so young." She left her menu on the table, for the first time wearing a poker face that imitated my own. "You know, I learnt a lot from her, I would've liked to assist to the funeral."

I set the menu down too, glaring at her as I placed my hands on my lap, curling them into angry fists. That had been beyond gratuitous. "This wasn't part of the deal. You can't talk about my personal life, much less of her." I icely told her. That topic still was too fresh for me, and saying it made me defensive was an understatement.

"It won't be included in the article, I assure you."

I exhaled tautly. "Good. Then, why bring it up?"

Linda Hargraves paused as we told the waiter our desserts choice, then turned back to me. "I'd like to express my condolences. I wish she had been my partner, or my internship instructor." Said she, and I contained myself from snorting. My mother at least could have taught her some professional ethics. "I wasn't sure of what was I expecting your reaction to be, officer, but I see the memories are still fresh in your teary eyes."

My knuckles surely must be white by now. Mentally, I kept repeating the mantra _"do not puch her"._ "Have you finished the interview?" She grinned again, wordlessly reaching for the tape recorder and pressing the 'stop' button.

"I think I got enough material." I wouldn't have answered her even if our dishes hadn't arrived, at perfect timing. We ate the rest of the dinner in silence, only broken by the waitress who brought up the check. I payed my part with cash, she hers with a debit card. We stood up, putting on our coats before striding to the exit side by side. Once there, I was the first to face her, she following me. "A pleasure, miss Porter." She extended her hand. "I have the feeling we'll see each other again." Said she, smiling as I politely shook her hand, also being the first to let go of the hold.

"Who knows." I answered, faking a smile. "Have a good night." She nodded.

"Likewise." She walked to her car while I went down the street, expertly navigating myself through the familiar urbanscape until I reached a cab that took me home.

I could only wait until the next Wednesday to see in which way that woman would twist my words... I so do deserve a raise...

* * *

The next day I was told my promotion would be made official in three days time, five days before Linda Hargrave's article was published for the Gotham Times.

I pushed aside any thoughts concerning the journalist as I walked into the room which Gordon had called for a meeting. Seeing Reed standing off to one side while blowing into the pipping hot coffee he had got from the machine in the corridor, I made my way over to him. Mentally, I counted. Including the two of us, four more agents summounded by the Sergeant. It felt both, surreal and delightful, that the MCU had been created less than a year ago, yet it was becoming one of the most effective within the police department. Reed finished his first tentative sip of the coffee just as he met my gaze. He checked my casual outfit before grinning good-naturedly. "Well, well, congratulations!"

I smiled. "As much as I hate to admit it, you were right." He chuckled, lazily resting his arm over my shoulders.

"When am I not?" He briefly glanced at his other hand, then lift it up while looking at me. "Coffee?" He teased, making me lightly elbow him in his ribs. The horrid liquid almost fell from the plastic glass. "Oi, that cost me 1.8 bucks!" He protested, deliberatedly exagerating his annoyance.

I rolled my eyes; he was such a drama queen when he wanted. "I would've made you a favor. That thing is disgusting."

He smirked. "Yeah, so? It's _my_ disgusting thing to drink, not yours." As if to prove his point, Reed took another longer sip of the coffee. No matter how much I enjoyed the smell of it, I just couldn't stand its bitter flavor, so to express my disapproval, I made a face. Head on, Reed answered back with a satisfied grin before checking me out once more; his right arm still was on my shoulders. "The lack of uniform suits you, _detective_."

I almost rolled my eyes. "Will you stop emphasizing the words?" I asked, not helping myself as I retorted his grin.

He chuckled before saying, " _Sure_." Annoying, childish git... Hell, I couldn't have asked for a better partner. Excepting Sergeant Gordon; not that I'd ever told Reed this. Speaking of the devil, Reed and I untangled ourselves from the other as our boss walked through the door, positioning himself at the front while we hurried to take a seat.

"Good morning everyone," Gordon said, clutching some papers in his ringed, left hand. "As most of you already know, I called you to fill you in about the MCU's newest operation." He handed Reed, who was sitting at the end of the row and on my left, the set of papers. "Take two and pass them, please." So he did. The redhead handed me the printed folios, right afterwards avidly reading what was written on them. I copied him as Gordon wrote something on the whiteboard.

The paper was a summary of the operation against Carmine Falcone, head of the family; the unfazed gaze of the crime lord stared back at me as I studied his colored, 2D face. He was no stranger to any of the cops gathered in the room, including myself, so his appearance of a normal, rich citizen was all too familiar. Aside from the data concerning Falcone, his underboss and his main known liutenant, the file specified the most recent activities of the mob. These regarded nearly exclusively the drug dealing, Falcone's principal source of revenue and power for his empire; the extortion business has gained some popularity as well. Gordon faintly cleared his throat, successfully focusing our attention back on him. In the whiteboar at his back he had placed pictures; the Roman was at the upper left corner of the board, below him Salvatore Maroni, his more than likely next in line. At the opposite side of the board the Roman's liutenant's thug face glared back at us and, below him, a big question mark drawn within the shilouette of an unkown person. Each picture had the name of the person written below; on the centre of the board, the Sergeant had drawn a timeline.

"Well, ladies and gentlemen, that file you have there is the data we will set off from." The Sergeant adressed us, putting the marker's cap back on it. "It's _vox populi_ among the department that since six months ago Falcone has been using the docks to smuggle into the city his new drug cargos. Question is, is that drug the same kind he always has been placing on the market?" He took the cap off, then turned around and drew an arrow from near the beginning of the timeline; below it, he wrote **"Expansion business; 2nd February."** He faced us again as the six of us began to take notes. Most of us knew about the matter, but it was better to write the data down, just in case. Gordon continued filling us in. "One of our fellow agents, undercover, confirmed us that the pattern for smuggling this cargos was far more guarded than the usual. According to his report, he recognized four GPD cops patroling the place along Falcone's henchmen. Speaking of which, that leads me to another interesting question." Gordon repeated the procedure, writing above the new arrow **"A. Asylum; 14th, 24th April."** Our boss elaborated, his blue gaze hardened, acquiring the professional aura he always got while working. "Since this dates," He jabbed a finger to emphasis, "Every single one of the Roman's most relevant thugs and henchmen arrested has been declared officially insane with any kind of long term psychosis and, consequently, hospitalized at Arkham Asylum." Gordon pushed his glasses a little up the bridge of his nose. "I sincerely hope none of you has the belief that these are coincidences." He added flippantly as a couple of cops snorted in agreement.

The other policewoman's hand that was in the room aside from me shot up in the air, her black hair falling at her back from the movement. Gordon nodded as he adressed her. "Agent González?" Her hazel eyes had a determined gleam on them; I remembered her from another joint operation in which we had worked together. Her name was María, around my age, immigrant parents. She hadn't had it easy; a reserved woman, genuinely nice if she deemed you trustworthy, very professional and with a hunger for justice, result of her own experiences. I liked her; Gordon surely had sifted us well.

María lowered her hand, her Hispanic accent faintly noticeable just if one truly looked for it. "I talked with the D.A's assistant, sir, and she didn't miss the link either. I'm sure that we can count with her absolute cooperation if we manage to gather enough evidence and hand it to her." The pretty agent told us determinedly. "Of course, we would need the assistance of an impartial judge who doesn't have the balls as necktie too." I chuckled, along with the rest of my colleagues. I could tell, Gordon was also fighting to keep a grin from his face.

"Indeed, but it's good to know we already have an ally within the judicial system." Said he while nodding.

I spoke up without bothering to raise my hand, eager to begin this operation. "I know a couple of people within the Asylum, the may lend us a hand on the matter as well, sir." Gordon gazed at me while nodding.

"Very good. Now," for the third time, he turned around and drew three more arrows on the whiteboard. "This is what we must find out before collecting any evidence." He stepped aside for us to see what he had written. **"Type", "Where"** and **"Supplier"** ; from that one, another arrow shot out towards the question mark person. Again, Gordon pushed his glasses up his nose, out of habit. "I have trusted you six only, no one else within the department or even the MCU. This means, absolutely everything you find out about the case must only be first shared between you six and me, no exceptions." He solemnly said, making some of us nod in agreement. "Obviously, I will keep Comissioner Loeb and any other authority figure above us informed, but I'd rather you consulted with me every autonomus decision or iniciative, please." His blue eyes got a subtle sad gleam. "Sadly, we cannot trust even our own colleagues if we want this to success." Again, all of us nodded. The Sergeant pointed at the two papers he had laid on the desk at his right. "You can keep this if you want, there you have written all of the things that have been said in this meeting." He lightly clapped his hands before rubbing them. "Well, that's all for now. Thank you everyone, off you go. Oh, and," he kindly smiled in encouragement. "Good luck."

* * *

After that long day of work, I found myself striding impatiently through the station's parking towards my car. I so wanted to arrive home. Reed had left a little earlier than me; as I turned the wheel while making my way over the night traffic jam, my singing was interrupted by my phone. I briefly glanced at the screen, my hands tensing a little upon reading of who the incomer's call was. Not helping myself, I waited a second before heaving a sigh and accepting the call. "Hi Dad."

"Emi! I've been trying to talk with you for the past month, not to mention the last week! How are you?" Thomas Porter's voice sounded so concerned and worried, echoing all over my car, that guilt actually blossomed in my chest.

"I'm sorry, I've been busy with work and didn't realize." I replied, which was partially true. "I'm fine as well, in all senses."

His own sigh sounded through the hands-free device. "Well, I'm very glad to hear so. By the way, congratulations on your promotion, honey!" He added, and I almost rolled my eyes.

"Thanks," I was just ten minutes away from my apartment. "Did you deduce it from the news' article or the mayor directly told you in one of your golf matches?" I mentally scolded myself for the sarcasm. I really needed to get over my father's past infidelity.

He chuckled, unfazed. "Both." I _almost_ smirked. "Anyway, there's something else I have to tell you honey."

I clicked the garage's remote, then drove into it as the doors slid to the side. "What is it?"

He kept silent for a moment, making me frown in both, worry and suspicion. Eventually, he said. "Could we have lunch together? I'm afraid I only have free the 13th afternoon, though. How does that sound?"

 _"Terrible. Plus, have you never heard 13 is the number of bad luck, Dad?"_ I thought to myself as I turned off the engine, my car now parked at my spot. I rubbed my eyes a little as I answered him. "Can't you just tell me now?"

Mentally, I could picture him shaking his head in denial. "No, I'd, rather tell you this in person, honey." I frowned again.

"You alright?"

"Yes, yes. I'm fine, and so is my health." He paused a brief moment before asking again. "So, afternoon the 13th?"

I glanced all over the front of my car, for I still was at the driver's seat holding onto the wheel. Finally, I let go of the cheek I had been bitting in contemplation before nodding to myself. "Alright. I believe I have a good break that day."

"Perfect, see you then, honey. Get some rest."

I inhaled. "Thanks, you too." My unenthusiastic voice lamely answered. Once the call was ended, I allowed my head to rest on the wheel before going to my house. What could he possibly want now?

* * *

At last, the dreaded September the 13th arrived. It was also my second day as an official GPD detective and, I must say, even if the difference hadn't been particularly noticeable so far, it felt _great_. As I washed the plate and glass I had used for my breakfast, my joy soon was spoiled once I remembered that Linda Hargraves' article was already printed in the newspaper's pages and, in addition, I would have lunch with my father. For the twentieth time, I cursed myself for not noticing sooner the day he had chosen coincided with the launch of my interview. It had taken me three days after our conversation before I realized as much. Well.

Nevermind, those were not my priorities; my job was. I had to take the morning shift today before I was free of evening duties. On the contray, I would spend my evening and most of the night working on _Julius Caesar_ operation. Seriously, Reed would've probably made a fortune as a dramatist or movie director with that creative mind of his.

I had expected as much, truth to be told, nevermind I still felt quite annoyed for all of the stares and whispers I got the moment I set foot inside the station. Had _every_ cop read the damn article? I glanced behind my shoulder at a group of four agents that were gossiping like grannies and watching my back. Immediately, they scurried out of my raised eyebrow and blue glare. Rolling my eyes, I continued towards my office. Seems like the answer was yes. The temptation of reading the interview myself to discover what was so interesting about it resurfaced, but I quickly erased it. Better if I pretended it has never happened; not to mention, I didn't want to be moody for my meeting with my father. I was about to achieve my goal when Reed walked into my office, the Gotham Times grasped in his left hand. I spared him a glance before continuing to sorting my paperwork and storing it in a folder. "What?" I calmly asked as I placed the folder inside my big purse.

I listened to his deliberated slow steps as they came to stop in front of my desk, making me meet his gaze. I narrowed my eyes upon noticing he was containing a smirk; I had come to know my partner as well as if I had been the one giving birth to him. He shrugged innocently, clasping his hands, and the newspapers, at his back. "Nothing." I stared deadpan, cocking my head to the side, mentally asking him _"Really?"_ The subtle lift of his mouth's corner was enough answer.

"Sing, ginger. What did Hargraves write?" With a grin that now was anything but subtle, he handed me the paper. I inhaled deeply, preparing myself for any kind of atrocity and manipulation, right afterwards taking it.

The title read, **"THE MIGHTY SUN BEAR."** ... What? I exchanged a quizzicall gaze with Sam's amused one before continuing with the reading.

 **"Bears possess some of the most disagreeable personalities in the animal kingdom. While the Grizzly Bear immediately comes to mind as the most ferocious and dangerous bruin, it is actually a gentle giant compared to the true black sheep of the ursine rogue's gallery. Weighing just 65 kilograms and measuring 1.5 meters in length, the Asian Sun Bear is the world's smallest bear species, and the most ferocious, with the largest teeth in proportion to body size. This small beast is the most fierce bear on the planet, and will attack humans without provocation. A number of fatal maulings have occurred from an animal considered by some to be the most dangerousin the jungle.**

 **Fortunately for me, though, I managed to scape from the claws of one with barely a scratch. Even though her height surpasses by far the 1.5 meters and her white teeth are perfectly proportional to her body, such description couldn't have fit better Gotham's new heroine, officer Parker of the GPD. Of course, this name is false so this lady cop's identity may remain protected. Upon my arrival I was the first to break the silence, her polite manners immediately lightening the atmosphere. Equally fiery and humble, these were the first words she said to me:**

 _ **"I wasn't a mastermind, the arrest of the Vampire was a joint police operation in which two GPD units participated along with the SWATs. The teamwork was the key to success."**_

 **A woman who still believes in the camaraderie that used to be part of the idiosyncrasy of the old men of honor, it seems.**

 ** _"Of course,"_ Said I. _"But it_ _is undeniable that your qualifications played a decisive role in the operation."_**

 **Reluctantly, she admitted the undeniable truth. _"Well yes, it's true I have a good qualification."_**

 **When asked about the current situation of Gotham and its historical crime rate, such optimism is not lost within officer Parker. _"We, the cops, are aware that we must earn again the citizens' trust, and certainly we cannot —and don't— blame them for our mistakes. But, little by little, we will amend those too."_ When I pointed out said optimism, she merely stated. _"With my job, I have to be."_ **

**Nevermind, whereas officer Parker's declarations concerning the police system's compromise with the citizens of Gotham became superfluous, my first impressions on how interesting this woman actually is gained back full convincement after quite a... philosophical chat. While getting to know each other, I had asked _"W_ _ouldn't you like to know the most juicy details of your hero's life?"_**

 **Her answer was. _"A magician never reveals his tricks, so why should any hero uncover his identity?"_ Said she, finally embracing her seemingly upcoming title. _"Isn't that why us people see them as such? Because you can't discern the flaws and scars of the person behind the persona?"_ And maybe that is the reason as to why such an insistence on keeping her identity a secret. Or is it because that may earn her more interviews? _"I'd personally prefer to keep the mystery. More fun then, don't you agree?"_**

 **However, after these declarations, officer Parker took a step back concluding. _"In any case, I'm no heroine."_**

 **How can a person keep the curiosity on check after that? I surely couldn't, hence officer Parker conceaded to indulge me with a little bit of information on her personal affairs. And, apparently, you don't need to have a long time ambition or a particular hunger for justice to become a cop and get the job done. It's not bad, however, to have either an unfullfilled heroine complex or a deeper desire, ulterior to sending scoundrels behind jail bars.**

 _ **"When I was little the idea lingered on my mind from time to time, yes. When I grew up though, I didn't consider it again until I was in my early twenties. My main ambition was to understand the criminal minds."**_

 ** _"Have you managed to?"_ I asked her, and she smiled sardonically.**

 _ **"Hardly."**_ **Was her simple yet sincere answer. Her humility was so touching that I couldn't help but wonder at the influence of her parents.**

 _ **"What about your relatives, did your family play an important role in that decision?"** _**I questioned her.**

 _ **"Not necessarily; I had their support, that was enough."**_ **I guess it shouldn't be surprising that such a modest person wouldn't have any high expectations. Nevertheless, the ghost of her memories, still fresh in her teary eyes at the mention of her progenitors, made me wonder if, like any hero worthy, officer Parker's past was a tragic one. Perhaps in a future interview she may be able to find enough courage to tell the public about it.**

 **Yet, we had to focus on the case that has made this woman anonimously famous. " _How_** _ **did you figure out the guy's**_ ** _profile?_ "**

 ** _"Observing."_ Said she, simply enough. _"Serial criminals tend to have a defined pattern of action that is only altered under determinated circumstances, and seldomly so. In this case, the Vampire targeted the same type of victims and in similar places within the city."_ She elaborated. _"Once the team realized as much, the MCU was able to plan the ambush."_  
**

 **The interview was approaching its end, so I had to make the most of the time we had left. When I asked officer Parker about Carmine Falcone, head of the mob, she first stated. _"In this concrete case, it's hardly relevant. The goal of the operation was catching a serial rapist, not Falcone."_**

 ** _"But isn't it scary to think that the success of the GPD was —possibly— founded just on the order of a single man?"_ I questioned her after she hinted the possibility.**

 **She answered me. _"As we estabilished before, it's no secret that the mafia's presence is palpable in the city, but the GPD isn't giving up. Days ago we caught a serial rapist; our interest will always be with the citizen, not the mob. The crime rate has decreased, slowly and in a scant amount, indeed, but_ there' _s a difference. It takes an awfully long time to amend all of the errors and oversights we all have committed through the years, but it's not impossible."_**

 **With those encouraging words, we were forced to shake hands and part ways. Whereas I do consider officer Parker's beliefs in teamwork and her hopes of redemption very aspiring, the afore mentioned optimist of this lady cop is so intense that it touches naivety. Truly, it makes me want to hand her a lollypop. Yet, all of her declarations were true; Gotham's crime rate decreased a 1,2% according to the statistics in the last year. Is it true, then, that this city still stands a chance at redemption?**

 **For our shake, let's hope so.**

 **7th, Sep. Linda Hargraves."**

Reed chuckled, "Sun bear, I couldn't have picked a better animal myself!" He told me in a fit of laughter after seeing me make a paper ball with the article. Meanwhile, I was plotting that viper's murder. My lower eyelid twitched in frustration before I remembered, I was supposed to have lunch with my father. I threw the ball towards the paper bin, scoring; then, I checked my watch. Goddammit, I would be late if I didn't leave now. Great... Could this day get any better? ...Please, _notice_ the sarcasm.

* * *

"I guess you aren't pleased with Miss Hargraves' article, uh?" Was my father's line to greet me at the doors of the restaurant. So the scowl had yet to leave my face.

"Hi to you too." I said, making him softly chuckle good-naturedly as he pushed the door open for me. I stepped in, he following me before telling the waiter our shared surname. The man escorted us to a small table near the corner and far from the windows.

"It's not that bad, Emi." I rolled my eyes. How could this man make me act like a hormoned teenager so easily? Oh, right, because he is my father. He caught sight of my less than mollified face, which prompted him to explain. "Really, Linda Hargraves could have twisted your declarations far more had she wanted to. I dare say, she even likes you." I snorted, both of us sitting down.

"I highly doubt it." Said I, opening my menu. "Anyway, I'd rather not talk about that, I already am in a pissed mood." I closed the menu again, leaving it on my plate; I'd have the sea bass. I focused on my father's face again, who had been watching me. But, before I could ask him what was this mysterious thing he had to tell me, he was already speaking.

"How's work, honey?"

I heaved a sigh. "Busy, as always. For a cop, there will always be work to do in this city. At least in the short run." I pressed my lips together, surveying his visage before continuing. "I'm working on a new operation, that's why my identity has been particularly hidden in the interview." He frowned, visibly uncomfortable.

He wasn't stupid, I knew he had, or would deduce that it had to do with the mob. He observed me for a while in which the waiter took note of our dishes before walking away. "Dear Lord, your mother may have been right after all." He smiled softly.

I couldn't return the smile, no matter how much I wanted to. "In what?"

His smirk grew. "You'll end up being our death."

I grinned sadly, closing my eyes. I refused to shed a single tear. Once I'd calmed down, I opened my eyes again, colliding with my father's own brown ones. He looked apologetical and this time I did smile. "I just miss her." He nodded, half-smiling.

"I do too. Believe it or not, hon." Our dishes arrived, saving me from replying. After we were about half-done with our plates, I finally asked.

"So, what do you have to tell me?"

He loosened a little the knot of his tie before looking back at me. He gulped before speaking. "Hell..." He muttered to himself.

I tried to, but I couldn't find any memory in which I'd have ever seen him so uncomfortable. "Dad, just tell me." The words felt so weird coming from my mouth. It had been such a long time since I last called him 'Dad' so soothingly; nevertheless, it seemed to give him the courage he needed to elaborate.

After his tenth sigh of the afternoon, he said. "It's Georgine and I. We..." He hesitated, then finally spat it out. "She's expecting a child."

I froze, and it was as if I was seeing my own face falling from a third perspective. I then blinked before asking. "What?"

"She's three weeks pregnant." He grinned a little. "We still don't know the sex of the baby but, in any case, we'd like you to be the godmother."

I scoffed, holding my hands up. "Whoa, wait right there."

His happy faced torned serious as he interrupted me. "Emilee, I know this may be a shock, but we're quite thrilled with the news. And both of us want you to form part of it too, you're as much my daughter as is my unborn child." My father moistened his lips before continuing. "I'm aware that I've hurt you in the past, and I'm sorry for it too. But please, honey, your future baby brother or sister doesn't have anything to do with that."

I chuckled wryly, shaking my head. "This is unbelievable." The sight of the ring proudly displayed on his finger, identifying him as a married man, angered me further. "Mom died just two months ago! And now you tell me you're going to have a child with the woman you cheated on her. How the hell am I supposed to be happy with the news?" I asked, yet without raising my voice. We didn't need to make a scene. "What do you expect me to say? That I'm glad and I'll be there to support that woman?"

He ran a hand through his slightly greyish hair. "Do not talk about my wife like that Emilee, please. Whether you like it or not, we married a year ago and now she's become the mother of my second child." The truth hurt me more than I had expected; maybe it was due to the shock.

"You weren't so committed to your first marriage, you know." I threw back. Later that night, or maybe in a couple of days, I surely would regret those words but right now I couldn't care less. In an odd, childish way I felt abandoned.

His gaze hardened. "I won't tolerate that, Emilee. I loved your mother."

"Did you?" I interrupted him.

"Yes!" He snapped, suprising me. He usually didn't allow himself to lose composure. "I did love Alice, and a part of me will always love her and mourn her loss. But loving is not the same as falling in love, Emilee, and Georgine is the only woman I've ever fallen for." He had said it so firmly, with no trace of doubt, that I had to purse my lips to keep them from quivering. He pinched the bridge of his nose before glancing at me again. I kept my stony expression, my safety mask. "You're twenty-six now, honey, an adult. You don't need me as much as your unborn sibling does; I want you to be part of the family as well, but if you don't... Well, that is something you have to decide. I won't hold anything against you, but know that I'll always be your father. But do not ask me to choose, Emi." I noticed, my eyes were starting to water. So I got up, placed a 20 dollar bill on the table for my meal and walked out of the restaurant.

* * *

At midday, Hugh Morgan always found himself caught in paperwork, what provoked him mix feelings of attainment and tediousness. It meant he could make a difference in the life of a youngster, driving him or her away of the temptation drugs and the mafia presented. But it also meant he'd probably skip lunch. His secretary and his assistant had already left for their break, and he was certain he was the only person that remained in that floor, wrapped up in case files and trial reports. He had already taken his suit's jacket and tie off, attempting to keep heat at bait. The air conditioning had broken down four days ago, so the building was particularly heated, literally. It was another excuse to go out early, actually. Nevermind, he felt sweat forming in his armpits and neck, so he rolled up his light blue shirt's sleeves up to his elbows, revealing the well-toned muscles of his forearms and the tanned skin that gave away his half-blood legacy. Maybe in half an hour he would take his lunch break too, but for now, he was engrossed in a case.

He was about to finish with the charges when he heard hurried foootsteps echoing in the corridor; definitely, he was alone on the floor, save for the newcomer. Standing up, holding the piece of paper as he finish reading it, he walked over his desk, ready to greet the person coming. As prosecutor of minors, it was rarer to receive dead threats that actually were put into practice, so he wasn't particularly concerned. Besides, the revolver he kept on his left drawer made him feel quite safe. He was leaving the paper on the desk just as the door bursted open.

The welcoming line he had in mind soon vanished after recognizing the face of the recently promoted Emilee Porter. "Em, what-" She cut him off crashing her mouth against his. Out instict, he wrapped his strong arms around her waist, hoisting her up so her long legs could straddle his waist as he deepened the kiss. One of his hands went down to her firm butt, the other tangling itself in her blonde locks. He knew Emilee loved it when he played with her hair. Two years of relationship made him know every inch of her body perfectly. As their tongues fought for dominance and the detective's quick fingers found the buttons of his Armani shirt, he felt himself running out of air. He leaned his head back, gasping for air and opening his dark eyes just in time to see the blonde laying a few kisses on his chest and neck while pressing her hip against the buldge of his pants. Scooping her up, he turned around and sat her on the desk, faintly hoping that not many of the files found its way to the office floor. As the clothes ended up scattered everywhere, he silently thanked that the room had no windows aside from the ones that showed the corridor, and which currently were with the blinds down too. Pushing her body against his, he moaned, both of them synchronized. After they reached the climax, Morgan allowed his forehead to rest on the woman's shoulder just as she leaned her head against his too. Finally, they separated.

"Well, hello to you too." The prosecutor said, putting back in place his pants. "Weren't you worried of getting caught? Or not finding me here, for instances?" She rolled her eyes, already finished with her jeans and putting back on the black laced bra.

"C'mon Hugh, you hardly ever take a lunch break whereas most of the floor does." She put on the tank top and shirt, then combed her locks with her own fingers. "The rest of the people at the opposite side of the floor was enough busy not to notice us."

He tucked the shirt inside his pants, looking for the belt. "And if they have?" Emilee shrugged.

"Then we'll put on a stall next time. 30 bucks per shag; I know we'll make a fortune." He laughed, showing off his neon white teeth.

"Sounds like a plan." They faced each other. "You still taking the pills, aren't you?" Asked he, making the blonde nod. Not helping himself, Hugh moved his hand to stroke the detective's arm before leaning in and giving her a peck on the cheek. "What happened?"

She inhaled, giving the prosecutor's hand a squeeze. "Let me invite you to lunch and I'll tell you." Hugh Morgan chuckled, accepting her offer. Before they walked out of the office, hand in hand, he quickly gathered the few files that had fallen to the floor. Emilee patiently waited for him, biting her bottom lip in concentration, wondering if she had done right in coming here. Sometimes she wondered if breaking up with Hugh had made a difference at all in their relationship. She didn't mind it, though. Right now, _this_ thing was what she both wanted and needed. Enough stability to help her through her struggles and enough freedom to be alone when needed, to truly clear her head. At the very moment, though, she needed Hugh's listening ear and wise advice. Not to mention, he was the last person she had to tell about her implications in the _Julius Caesar_ operation.

After they were done with the McDonald's menus, Emilee told him about all of the events that had took place in the past week, starting from the Vampire's case, going through Linda Hargraves and her interview to end up in this afternoon. "I think the case affected you more than you first thought, Em. The Vampire's I mean." He had said, internally fighting to keep his palms open and his head clear. He already knew about the rapist case, and the knowledge that the guy had been so close to get her woke in him the urge to beat the bastard up to death. He forced himself to calm down, though; what mattered is that he hadn't. Emilee had said it herself, psychologically, she'd eventually have to face the sequels. And it seemed those already had come to the surface, for the woman she knew wouldn't have allowed her emotions to control her so much. She'd been acting irrationally against situations of emotional distress, he told her. The pretty blonde, after mulling over the matter, had nodded in agreement, promising him she'd look for help if she ended up not getting over it on her own.

"There's something else, Hugh." Said she, putting him in a wary mood. "I'm part of a new operation regarding the mob; I think you needed to know it." Even if in his insides he had freaked out upon knowing the danger Emilee was getting herself into, he made sure his face remained neutral, placing his hand on top of her smaller one in a poor attempt of support.

Goddammit, this woman would be the death of his.

* * *

 **N.A/: Well, it took me quite some time but finally it's done! I apologize for the delay, college life is quite demanding. I hope you enjoyed this chapter; thank you everyone who has read, followed, faved and reviewed! :)**

 **By the way, I also apologize for all the grammar and spelling I surely have overlooked in my hurry to update. I'll fix them in the future.**

 **Until next time,**

 **~Se acerca el invierno**


	4. A lady's monopoly of psychos

_**3\. A lady's monopoly of psychos**_

 _Gotham City, 2 years later_

A shit-eating grin spread on his dry lips as he finally was able to discern the boat, fairly silent, slowly reaching the docks. Two more followed it, all of them carefully hidden by the night darkness as a blanket laid on them. No more lights than the necessary, perhaps even less. He allowed himself the pleasure of lighting a good Cuban cigar, directly smuggled from the Habbana and neatly borrowed from the Roman himself. The first breath he took tasted him too sweet.

His dark eyes danced equally pleased and cocky over the bunch of losers unloading the stock; none of them would even smell the third part of the bills he and some others truly were gaining with the business. Of course, that only made one wonder about how loaded the Roman actually was. The bastard had a clever mind, more clever than he could admit to be. Nevermind, it still was a good sum of bucks in his hands; he couldn't complain. He sent a brief glance that screamed _arrogance_ over his shoulder towards the back of three of the men keeping watch. A pity they weren't wearing their usual blue uniforms right now. Taking another puff of the cigar, he glanced around. A little up their spot, he noticed the containers littering the place with a specific order. So that was where that cop had caught the rapist... Nice. He briefly wondered if he'd spend the rest of the night with one of his boss' finest ladies when, finally, the last cargo was set on the ground with a firm ' _thud_ '.

A simple move of his balded head, then his brothers were passing the cargos inside the trucks of the two SUVs parked. The three losers waited in silence; he could almost smell their fear. Moving like a jungle cat, he neared one of the open trucks as someone momentarily took one of the wooden boxes. Yes, that's what they were expecting. He finished off the cigar, then threw the butt of it towards the black waters that caressed the shore.

He faced again the three awaiting dealers. "Remind me, how much you agreed?"

It was almost as if he could see the surprise in their faces upon hearing his decently educated speech. Mentally, he smirked; not all of this city's scum was born in the Narrows, after all.

Eventually, one answered. "50 each."

He paced a little, stepping towards them. They managed to root their feet on the ground. "There's some little problem, ya see." None of them had the balls to try to appear confused; their nervousness and fear, on the other hand... "A little bird sang to me, three nasty lil' rats have been sticking their noses where they shouldn't," he took another step forward. "Asking the wrong questions to the right people."

Two minutes, less even, and one of them broke. "We want no trouble. Just pay us an' we're off."

He _tsk_ -ed, disapprovingly. "What did you boys find out, uh?" Silence, as expected. The idiots must be pissing their pants for sure. If they were going to work for them they should've known better. "Ever heard that shitty cliche, guys? It goes, curiosity killed the cat." Finally, the three took a couple of steps back just as his right, ringed hand came to rest on the hem of his black jeans. One of them, in panic, made a run for one of the boats. His trained, merciless hand, however, was quicker. A faintly noticeable sound of a bullet sailing through the air followed by the sound of the body colliding partly against the ground, partly against the water. Then the blood began to flood from the hole in his head, staining the pebbles and sand. The other two had just time to blink before a second and third bullet were delivered to each. They hit the ground in a matter of seconds.

As the corpses were removed from the scene, he stroke his goatee trying to recall the number of murders the GPD had kept track of performed by himself. However, a couple of seconds later, he mentally shrugged. Well, now they had three more to add to the list.

"What they did?" One of the cops at his back questioned, tensed.

 _"Find out it ain't shit just to get high, and not only for those willing to get it..."_ He thought. Instead, he didn't bother to give an answer, especially to someone that, during daylight, carried an ID identifying him as a police officer. He marched towards one of the SUVs, his three brothers already waiting for him. Two were inside one of the cars, the other seating at the passenger's seat next to his empty spot behind the wheel. The other two, aside from the corrupt cops, would follow behind with a smaller car. He initiated the SUV he was in, already turning the wheel to direct the vehicle towards the exit, the other two at his trail. He didn't get far, however, forcing his right foot into the brakes upon seeing the front of two GPD cars blocking his way. _"What the...?"_

The loud sound of a cop's voice speaking through the radio said, "All of you! Step outside the vehicles with your hands above your heads."

He gripped the wheel with enough strength to make his sunk, tattoed knuckles turn white. "Boss?" Asked uncertain his copilot. His temper must've got the better of him and his common sense, because the next moment all he was aware of was the aching pressure of his foot against the gas. The front of the SUV slammed against the police car's parked at his right, but he managed to stabilize the vehicle before driving like crazy, out of the docks. Not long after, two sirens drowned all of the traffic noise as they circled at their back in a hurried chase.

"Who's sung?!" He barked as the pedestrians fled from the crosswalks and a couple of cars honked, stopping right before crashing against the SUV. The copilot yelled back his answer which he failed to understand. " _The fucking sirens are too close,"_ he tought angrily, sinking his foot even further against the gas pedal. No matter how hard he turned the wheel left and right, they weren't losing them. He wasn't sure where was he driving anyways, but after a while the area of the Narrows materialized ahead of them.

He frantically scanned the situation and the structure in front of him. _"The bridge!"_ He thought, as an idea popped into his head after noticing the lack of traffic jam there. With renewed determination, he got into it, purposefully driving against traffic. The only car on the lane moved to the side, desperatedly trying to avoid the collision and, as he had hoped, crashing instead against the cop car that had been trying to flank the SUV's right. He laughed, noticing the two remaining cars at their back. He bet, the grin on his face surely was sickeningly mad as he abruptly moved the wheel to the right. He got onto the other lane as the police car at the front braked, attempting to not slam itself against a second car that had just pulled up to their spot. Both would have succeeded had it not been for the second police car colliding with the back of the first.

But as he was nearing the entrance of the bridge, a light blinded him and a shot echoed through the air right before he felt the SUV losing control of the direction. The light disappeared just as the SUV slammed against the metallic structure's side and the airbag flew into his face, keeping him from seeing anything. A loud beep was preventing him from hearing anything else but, some seconds later, he was finally able to make out the words every cop was shouting at them. Didn't they have more original lines than _"hands up"_ and _"don't move"_? With a lot of strength, a bit less confused, he forced his balded head up and gazed around. Cops surrounding them, all of them wearing black balaclavas as well as the reglamentary and standard Glock in their hands. He knew better than to try to make another escape, so he followed the orders and lifted his bloodied hands.

Two cops, a man and a woman, came up to him. The guy shoved him out of the driver's seat and into the car's side; he noticed then the fancy GPD helicopter above them and the bastard with very good aim holding the M40 pointed at him. As the male cop put the familiar handcuffs tightly around his wrists, the blue-eyed policewoman said all _cliché-ish_ another familiar line. "Victor Zsasz, you are under arrest for murder and drug trafficking."

* * *

 _Next day_

Just as I expected, the DA's assistant was extremely happy with the news I had delivered. And, like I suspected, her excitement soon turned to doubt. "Does Falcone know?"

I rested my back further against my office chair. "He surely must." I answered, regardless that Miss Dawes already knew this, or suspected it at the very least. She wasn't stupid, after all. "The colleagues from the criminology lab are already analyzing the samples of the cargos we caught." I checked again the last email I had received from the labs as I re-ajusted the phone on my ear. "A week more or less, perhaps less before they have anything. Hopefully they'll be able to tell if the mob is selling a new experimental drug or something similar." I added.

"As soon as you get results inform me; anything will be useful for the accusation." I nodded, in spite that she couldn't see me. "I'll talk with the DA to see which judge will conduct the trial too."

"Let's hope Crane isn't there either." I supplied. "He's already sent 20 of Falcone's men to the Asylum; Zsasz would be the third one truly relevant, though."

The sigh of my interlocutor was anything but subtle. "Let's hope." Then, she said. "Thank you for everything, Detective." I smirked.

"No need, Miss Dawes. I hope we talk again soon, maybe with good news."

A soft chuckle, then she spoke. "Indeed. Have a good day."

"Likewise." We hung up, and then and only then I allowed myself to heave a tired sigh of my own. I checked my watch. I still had quite the time before finishing the morning shift. Lunch could wait until my baby brother and sister's gift was safely wrapped and kept within my car. Afterwards I'd be able to eat something and check the lab work. Gordon was busy with Comissioner Loeb, and I honestly couldn't remember what Reed was up to, but he had his own work to do.

I was about to close my inbox when a new mail popped on the screen, instantly making me roll my eyes. Linda Hargraves was too persisting, really. For the past two years she had made her career -and probably life- purpose to drive me insane and become the personal journalist that covered all of my cases. As if taunting me, every once in a month or two, I would see an email of hers with the latest article she had written related to the GPD and my cases. I always left them unresponded. Reed now tends to joke that the woman actually is after a date and not only a scoop.

As always, I did not reply to her email and closed my account. I clicked on the files of my desktop and, while waiting for them to open up, I extended my hand and grasped the reports of the operation and the criminal record of Zsasz. Lieutenant of the Roman and one of his most dangerous and implacable murderers, it was undenyable that he wasn't mad and had never showed signs of being crazy to begin with. His criminal life had started relatively soon and, like many that worked for Falcone, had been rescued from the streets and themselves by the crime lord. I took a deep breath. If Crane advised in the trial... Well, this time it would be too obvious in whose side he truly was if he sent Zsasz as well to Arkham. Damn issue was we wouldn't be able to do anything about it without the support of the judicial system.

The video was finally uploaded whole, compelling me to ignore the reports and focus on re-watching the interrogation of Zsasz. Pen in hand, my eyes glued themselves to the criminal, avidly watching every single move and posture he had made during the interrogation. He was way too used to cops, handcuffs and charges to be affected by the colleagues that had questioned him yesterday night... Or today's morning, depends on how you look at it.

Nearly an hour and a half later, the first draft of my profile was done. I'd revise it later at my apartment, before handing it over to the Sergeant tomorrow morning. When my shift came to an end, I found myself driving to the nearest toy store. The joys of having siblings that could be your children...

* * *

I really did not want to accept the incoming call on my phone. I had just sent a picture of the funniest and cutest matching t-shirts for two-year-olds to Carrie, indulging her insistent curiosity, when the dreaded number materialized on the screen. My first reaction was to let out a snort worthy of any brat. But then I remembered I was a sensible adult and, eventually, answered the call.

"Georgine."

"Hello Emilee." My stepmother's pleasant voice said. "I'm sorry to bother you, I just wanted to confirm if you're coming Friday evening."

"Yeah, sure." I handed the bill to the clerk. "Wouldn't miss little Jack and Amanda's birthday." I smiled in thanks as the girl offered me back the change and the wrapped garments.

"Good, good." Her voice was nervous enough for me to notice as I walked out of the store. "I made carrot pie as well, Thomas mentioned it was your favorite when you were a child."

"Thank you." I answered flatly. "I have to hung up, you know, I'm about to drive." I told her, even though my car still was at a good distance beyond my reach.

"Yes, of course."

"And Georgine," I added, not sure if out of pity or annoyance. "Just... don't try so hard."

After a brief pause, she answered. "Alright... See you on Friday."

"Until then."

* * *

My smile widened, showing off my teeth as the twins began to make faces at me. I returned the favor by sticking out my tongue and focusing my eyes to the centre of my nose. Their laughter was instantaneous. "Having fun you three?"

I looked over my shoulder to my father's black casual jeans, since my visual range was limited due to my sitting position on the floor. "Precisely," I said. "Now, if you excuse us..."

However, my little half-sister had other plans as she threw her hands up in the air. "Daddy!" My father laughed before taking his hands out of his pockets and happily lifting her small body. You could easily see their resemblance.

A small tug on my sleeve made me look away from the happy picture and back to Jack. He was smiling as he extended his arms towards me instead. In spite of myself, I smiled back as he managed to melt my defences. Then, with surprising stability having in mind I was wearing a pair of my usual heels, I scooped him up as well and planted a kiss on his cheek as his arms went around my neck. The moment was broken, however, when he pulled at one of my blond locks. I separated myself from him so we could gaze at each other. With a little grin, he showed me proudly his fist, locked around my hair. "Ouch." I simply said with a plain tone.

The little devil widened his grin before simply opening his hand and letting go of the hair. I couldn't deny, the bond I felt with him was stronger than with Amanda, not that I loved her any less.

"Come you both, lunch is ready for all." My father called before walking away with her second daughter. I followed as Georgine finished serving the drinks. The housekeeper must have the day off. I had to admit, Georgine had taste. Their luxurious attic had a sophisticated aura which was difficult to copy. It was no surprise, though. We were in the rich part of the city, after all.

Once everyone was seated in their places, the casual chat I had been waiting for started. "Thank you so much for the presents, Emilee. You didn't have to." The new Mrs. Porter told me.

I swallowed the food I had in my mouth before answering. "No problem. Besides, it's custom to give presents on birthdays, isn't it?" My father threw me a small, warning glance which I gracefully ignored, physically at least. Alright, I would control my inner, sarcastic bitch. And so I proved him when I added. "How has been work?"

My step mother's face immediately brightened itself, making me feel a bit guilty for my attitude. "Wonderful, actually. We're already making business with the Asian Giant, acting as bridge to the American market."

I nodded politely. "Impressive, I admit it." I took a sip of my wine before continuing. "You acted as the marketing leader, didn't you?" Her smiled grew as I showed off I knew something about herself outside our family issues.

"That's right." Georgine then cleared a bit her throat before asking me. "So, how have things been going on in the GPD?"

"Stressfull." I simply said, faintly hoping my father wouldn't say his next words, my hopes fading fast enough.

"Yesterday you arrested one of Falcone's men, didn't you?" He innocently took a fork of his meat as he returned my glare with an impassive stare.

"The MCU did, not only me." I retorted, ignoring Georgine's impressed face and the fact that she was restraining herself from asking any further. I appreciated the respect. "You and the mayor need to stop all that gossiping right now, you know. You're worse than grannies." I added, glancing pointedly at my father.

He laughed. "You can try to stop us, Emi, but if our long time friendship hasn't broken already, with all the crap going on... Well." He ended up the sentence with a pretty self-explanatory chuckle.

Georgine surprised me by slapping his shoulder and scolding him. "Language, Thomas." She moved her blond head motioning for the kids. I smirked smuggly, in spite of myself. Step by step...

As the rest of the afternoon unfolded itself, I found myself surprisingly comfortable. That awoke a lot of different emotions within me, especially towards my stepmother. While sipping coffee and relaxing on the sofas, I watched my father and baby brothers interact with the woman I had so many mixed feelings for. Georgine was undenyably pretty; whereas my beauty was more... flashy, the prime stereotype of _cheerleader_ , which I ironically was during highschool, hers was more subtle. Barely a few years older than me, she could also make heads turn when she walked into a room. Less than me, yeah. However, her beauty was also the kind that made the few heads that have turned remain there, and in my experience for something more than simply be catcalled. Guess the picture before me was solid proof of that...

My first impression had always been to labell her as _trophy wife_ , the kind of woman who was merely an opportunist. Then, at the time, I had hated to see that I was profusely wrong and she actually had brains separated from the hole between her legs. She had a natural refinement as well that many could only dream to possess. All of it, the comfort I had recently allowed myself to feel around Georgine Habdoy... No, Georgine Porter now. I gulped, and I could swear I almost literally felt the knot in my throat.

I shifted my pensive gaze to my father then. Was that what attracted him so much about her, her sophisticated persona and beauty? Had it been enough to risk your already settled family?

Yet, the answer was literally in front of me.

Everyone froze for a moment before I stood up from the black-leathered couch, left my mug on the coffee table and strode to my purse. "Porter" I answered the call.

"Detective, this is Cooper from narcotics. You gotta come an' see this."

* * *

"You have to be joking!" Gordon exclaimed as we, alongside Reed and González, stood in the lab before the samples.

"Afraid not, Sergeant. See?" Dr. Cooper showed us the blue color the powder had turn to. "It's cocaine, there's no mistake of it."

"They tricked us..." Reed muttered, angered.

"No, Falcone led us right where he wanted to." Gordon said. He looked to María and I. "The rest of the load?"

"The men who didn't ran away threw the shipment to the river, sir." The woman confirmed our suspicions. Meanwhile, Dr. Cooper from narcotics kept moving his eyes from one to another.

Poor Gordon sighed tiredly. "Very well. We still can present the charges for drug dealing and murder. Porter," I instantly fixed my eyes on his. "Would you say Zsasz knew about it? Ran just to distract us?"

I shook my head. "I don't think so, sir. He isn't crazy, nor that stupid."

Jim Gordon nodded determinedly. "Then make damn sure the DA and Miss Dawes have every proof of it."

* * *

 _A week later_

Dr. Jonathan Crane's piercing gaze was irritating. The Roman couldn't deny, but would never admit either, that those icy blue eyes held something that completely unnerved him. The psychiatrist had called for a meeting, so there they were, facing each other with only a desk in between. Perhaps one of the doc's fancy glass-windows was better suited for the occasion. He lazily rested against his office chair, not bothering to ask Crane what did he want.

"No more favors. Someone is sniffing around." The man said after sitting on his own chair.

"Hey, I scratch your back, you scratch mine, doc. I'm bringing in the shipments. Just last week I deceived our blue-shirted friends, didn't I?" He reminded him; it was his men hired, his empire at risk, his right for a couple of fortunate coincidences.

"We are paying you for that." The smartass retorted with those unnerving eyes of his perfectly put and fixed on him.

"Maybe money isn't as interesting to me as favors." The Roman answered, covering up for his annoyance. It was _he_ who always demanded, who held the long end of the stick.

"I am more than aware that you're not intimidated by me, Mr. Falcone." The mafia boss could've snorted at that, had the circumstances and the person in his office tonight been others. "But you know who I'm working for, and when he gets here-"

"He..." The Roman repeated in disbelief. "He's coming to Gotham?"

"Yes, he is." The doctor calmly answered as leaned forward, prompting the crime lord to tense his jaw as subtly as he could. "And when he gets here he's not going to wanna hear that you've endangered our operation just to get your thugs out of jail time."

Falcone was sure, his gaze must have turned into a glare now. He pressed his lips into a thin line for a moment, before asking in defeat. "Who's bothering you?"

"There's a girl at the DA's office." Crane said before Falcone rushed to state the habitual procedure.

"We'll buy her off-"

"Not this one." The psychiatrist interrupted him for the first time; he added, then. "Not these ones..."

Falcone frowned before moistening his lips. "Idealists, huh? Well, there's an answer to that too."

"I don't want to know." Doc said as he leaned back again.

"Yes, you do." Said the mob boss, leaning forward this time. He placed his elbows on the desk as he brought up his crossed fingers up to his shaved chin. Then, asked. "Who's the other meddler?"

* * *

I really shouldn't have been surprised in the slightest of Crane's testimony, yet, my red knuckles and scattered papers on the floor said otherwise. Miss Dawes had just hung up to confirm our suspicions; Crane was more than corrupted and Zsasz was free of jail. Not helping myself, I slapped my right hand against my desk once more in frustration; the sound echoed all over the rather small room. My left hand, however, untangled itself from a fist and went up to my forehead, rubbing circles on my frown. A couple of minutes later, maybe more, I stepped away from the side of my desk to gather, again, all the files of the case I had foolishly throw in my fit of rage. It was hard enough to try to be a good person under normal circumstances, but in this damned city... I sighed.

I had just crouched when my office phone rang. Rising up, I left the folder I had just picked on the wooden surface before bringing the receiver up to my ear. "Detective Porter."

"Still in the office?" I briefly checked my watch upon hearing Gordon's question. It was nearly 2:00 am.

"Yeah," Answered I, my feet making no sound thanks to my lack of normal heels. The flat soles of my boots were a blessing, I gotta admit it. "I have to clear up some stuff." I told my boss, sending a brief glance towards the paperwork as I sat down tiredly. "Anyways, I changed shifts with Hunter, had this morning and afternoon free in exchange of the evening and most night, sir."

I heard the Sergeant's soft chuckle through the phone, even if I knew he was as amused as me. "Very well. Call me when you've sorted that stuff, then we can try to make something productive."

"Sure, sir." Then the call ended, leaving me to take back all the folios and folders. Once everything was laid out on the table, I started to re-order it. Zsasz record on one pile, the last drug dealing cases' reports on another, Falcone's record and crime empire diagram and study on a third. Profiles, my most precious paperworks, safely inside the purple folder I already was tucking in my purse to take home with me. And, finally, I inspected the copy of the reports Carrie and Joey, one of the porters, got me from Arkham. I'd study them tonight.

By the time I was done my watch showed the time was 2:54 am. I dialed again to Gordon's office, getting no response though. The procedure repeated once, twice, until I got tired and simply walked out of my space, marching to my boss' office.

* * *

The GPD's most dedicated and honest Sergeant took his sweet time to return to his practically second bedroom, a hot coffee from the shop in front of the station in his hand. He would need it tonight, more than ever before. The asshole of Flass had dropped him at the workplace a couple of hours ago, and even though officers came and went in the lowest levels of the building, nearly all of his team was off to their homes. He would've sent Porter away too for a rest hadn't he known already it would've been useless. The woman was nearly workaholic, much like himself in a way. But the MCU needed a rest, especially after the failure with Zsasz. All evidence had been futile, and they had a corrupted judge and shrink to thank for that. Once he reached his office in the third floor, one above Porter's, Gordon took off his jacket and placed it on his chair before sitting down. The small, red, flashing light indicated him someone had called him. _"Emilee"_ He immediately thought while calling back to her own office. No answer.

He was about to try again when the lamps' lights flickered right before going out, leaving only the back-up lighting. As an instinct, he froze. No GPD cop could afford unfortunate casualities. The sound of a weapon, maybe a gun, followed the moment as in the blink of an eye he felt said weapon against his scalp. "Don't turn around." A deep, low voice commanded him. "You're a good cop. One of the few." The shadow continued, making him listen intently. That wasn't the usual speech...

After a pause of silence, Gordon asked. "What do you want?"

"Carmine Falcone brings in shipments of drugs every week. Nobody takes him down, why?" Precisely.

"He's paid up with with the right people."

"What will it take to bring him down?" Gordon frowned for a moment; that one was new.

Nevermind, he answered the shadow. "Leverage on judge Faden... and a DA brave enough to prosecute."

"Rachel Dawes." He knew that name quite well; the question was, why did his interrogator know.

"Who are you?" Asked the cop, still unmoving while looking at his desk.

"Watch for my sign." Gordon frowned again. What was that supposed to mean?

Gordon tried again, right as the pressure of the weapon at the back of his head disappeared. "You're just one man?" The Sergeant didn't dare to move a muscle, especially without knowing the answer to that question.

"No." The voice whispered. "We're two."

Gordon was about to ask again as his forehead wrinkled itself in confussion when the unmistakable _click_ of the reglamentary gun echoed in the office. "Then tell your friend to not be shy and join the party."

* * *

Bruce froze as the Glock 17's barrel came too close to his head, just as through the corner of his eye he caught glimpse of the blond female cop fearlessly holding it. This was _not_ supposed to happen. "Detective." Gordon acknowledged, slightly turning on his chair.

"Call for help, sir." The woman said. "I'll keep our guest in line."

Gordon immediately turned back to his desk as he hurriedly pressed the different numbers to call to the first floor.

Then, Bruce turned his head to look at the policewoman; tall, fit... yet not enough to overcome his height or strength. Obviously, there was no choice; he had to escape.

Lacking the luxury to think through his flight plan, and swallowing any moral reprovals, he swung his left fist towards the pretty stone face watching him as his right hand took hold of the gun's barrel, twisting it to the side and away from his head. Even though he mentally thanked the woman's quick reflexes for avoiding the punch, he managed to take the Glock from her iron grasp in that moment of distraction and pull her against his chest. Instantly, the detective's sharp elbow tried to collide against his ribs, and he blessed the armor suit; the cop struggling against his chest knew exactly where to land a blow. As good as himself, perhaps better, but he had had a couple of fights too. Enough to teach him well.

Bruce trapped her neck with his left arm and aimed with the gun in his right hand for her temple, right before putting the safety back on. With the adrenaline pumping in his veins, he didn't trust himself. Last time he ended up blowing up the building he had been fighting in, after all.

As the blond detective's body froze against his, Gordon had already turned around with his own gun aimed at him. "Let her go!" He screamed, falling into the bluff.

Bruce waited for a moment, then, seeing no other option, pushed the woman with all of his strength towards the GPD's Sergeant. The instant their bodies separated, he turned around and sprinted to the window he had used to come into the building, straightaway climbing the staircase with an expertise worthy of an ape's envy. "He's going to the rooftop!" The detective's feminine voice called from beneath.

He had just reached the end of the way up when the flat roof's door was kicked open and through came Gordon, the blond police woman behind him. Bruce turned around again and ran, ignoring all the cops, more than the two he had encountered if his mind and ears weren't playing tricks on him, and their yells of _"freeze"._ Instead, he forced his legs to run harder, towards the edge of the building. Then, he jumped, with the Glock he had taken from his attacker still in his fist.

* * *

I watched, helplessly, as the madman who had held me at gunpoint fell into thin air, disappearing from our view. Not long after, a metallic crash was heard, and Gordon and another cop whose name I didn't know nor cared for walked closer to the edge of the building, trying to take a peek of the psycho... or his body in default. I mean, that crash has sounded pretty bad from up here.

I locked my gaze then on the Sergeant, checking once more he was uninjured. I repeated all of what had happened in my head; I had found Gordon's spacious office empty. After finding the desk and main room empty, I had walked to the right, to the other part of the office where a larger table was set up for any extraordinary meetings and a couple of small couches rested. That area was empty too. Finally, when I was checking the tiny bathroom attached to the office, the lights had gone out. I've never thanked my flat soles and silent nature so much. In all honesty, I can't be certain if any harm would've come to Gordon regardless of my presence, but I wasn't willing to take the risk. Not with the GPD and this city's record.

"What the hell was that?" Asked the uniformed cop.

Gordon, sucking in another heavy breath, simply said. "Just some nut." Then, he turned to me. "You alright?"

Taking another heavy breath myself due to the adrenaline and the race, I simply nodded.

"Got all the psychos for yourself, huh?" A detective from another unit, who I also didn't recognize, asked me.

I chuckled humorlessly. "This is Gotham, what did you expect?"

* * *

 **A.N/: Forgive the long wait. Haven't been able to revise this one, though; I'll try to do it in the near future, so apologies for that too.**

 **Thanks so much everyone who has read, faved, followed and reviewed. Seriously.**

 **~Se acerca el invierno**


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